


All the Bright and Precious Things

by orphan_account



Series: The Walk of Fame: Hollywood AU [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hollywood AU, fluff with some light angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-04-30 10:09:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 123,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5159843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leo Fitz and Jemma Simmons, Hollywood's sweethearts. Known by the tabloids as FitzSimmons, they've done twenty one films and won six Oscars between them by 25 years old. </p><p>When Fitz starts hanging out with sitcom actress Skye Johnson, things begin to break apart, revealing the cracks left in Fitz and Jemma that they'd tried so desperately to leave behind them. </p><p>A story of love, loss, and jealousy in Tinsel Town.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Red Cheeks, Red Carpets

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE:  
> I've tried to edit this chapter like 40 times because, at least for me, this fic isn't popping up on the page at all, unless you go to my Works. So, if for some reason you've seen this fic popping up a bunch, let me know and I'll stop cause maybe it's just an issue for me :) 
> 
> I apologize if it's driving anyone crazy!

“Are FitzSimmons on the fritz once again? Leo Fitz was spotted in Los Angeles with up-and-comer Skye Johnson looking quite smitten. Jemma Simmons, meanwhile, was nowhere to be found. Rumor has it, the duo’s latest project might be in jeopardy—“ 

Jemma huffs and turns off the television, glaring at it as though it’s the cause of her problems. The images of Fitz and Skye Johnson walking down the street together, arm-in-arm, is a little more irritating than she’s willing to admit out loud. To comfort herself, she glances at her mantel, crowded with gold trophies. 

But it’s not the trophies she’s looking at, all the awards that she’s won for the roles that she’s played; she’s looking at the photos that hang above each one, of her and Fitz. They’re not the glamorous red carpet shots, or even the ones from the after parties. They’re the traditional photos they take together for just the two of them at every event, that live only on their phones and on their respective living room walls. He has his own version of this, too, and the reminder of that calms her down slightly. 

This has happened before. Rising stars meet Leo Fitz at a party or through some mutual acquaintance and they see him for who he is—purely good and compassionate and always willing to help, but also horribly bad with relationships and women. She’s seen one too many of these women take advantage of Fitz and his connections, but it’s never affected them, because she’s never let it get that far. 

If there’s one thing on earth that Jemma Simmons is sure of, it’s that she would do anything for Leo Fitz. 

She looks at her calendar and breathes out a slow, steadying breath. Their meeting with the studio executives is tomorrow for the project they wrote together. They plan to direct and star in it together, too, a regular Good Will Hunting endeavor, and she’s thrilled at the prospect of having such creative license over her and Fitz’s work. Getting funding off of the ground has been a challenge, but one she’s sure that they’ll manage to overcome. 

As her anxiety rises, she shakes her head at herself and picks up her phone off of the coffee table, dialing Fitz quickly. He’s always the first name on her “Recent Calls” list. It rings twice—and then goes to voicemail. 

She frowns down at it before deciding to leave a message. “Good morning, Fitz! Or rather, afternoon now, I suppose. I just wanted to check in and see what you’re up to today. I was thinking I could come over later and we could go over our pitch for tomorrow’s meeting with Victoria Hand. Just give me a call back when you get this.” 

Jemma hangs up and resolutely decides that there’s no point in worrying. Her dog, a little black rescue mutt, snoozes on the nearby loveseat and she coos at her. 

“Widget! Let’s go for a little walk, hm?” 

Widget immediately perks up, wagging her little tail with enthusiasm. Jemma laughs and gathers her leash, pushing her feet into some trainers. Widget runs in little circles around her as she tries to fasten the leash on her. 

“You’re so good when Fitz does this!” Jemma complains. “Although you were his idea anyway.” 

Fitz had gotten it into his head that Jemma was lonely, after her spectacularly public breakup with Will Daniels several months back. He’d told her he was taking her to lunch, and instead had taken her to the local Humane Society. 

“Just think about it!” Fitz had exclaimed over her protests. “You’ve got the time, you’ve always wanted a dog—what better time then now?” 

She’d agreed to go in and just look, intending to sleep on the decision, but then Widget had stared at her through the glass of her kennel and she’d been a goner. Snatching her headphones off of the table near the door, Jemma prepares herself for the possibility of cameras as she checks her appearance in the mirror. 

“We look as presentable as ever, Widge,” Jemma hums. “Off we go, then.” 

She presses play on her friend’s boyfriend’s latest album. Bobbi’s new squeeze was some indie musician named Lance Hunter, who Bobbi absolutely insists Jemma will love. She’d downloaded the album at Bobbi’s wheedling, and finds that the first song is, indeed, right up her alley. 

Her walk does the trick for clearing her head. Widget happily plods along in front of her on the sidewalk, and the music sets a nice soundtrack to her day. An added bonus is the decided lack of photographers nearby, allowing her to relax. She makes it through the entirety of Lance’s album before she returns home, and she smiles when she sees a familiar car in the driveway.

“Hello?” she calls, voice echoing into the living room. 

“In the kitchen!” Fitz calls back. 

“Of course you are,” she laughs, unhooking Widget so that the dog can run for her favorite person. 

“Widge!” Fitz cheers. When Jemma enters the kitchen, he’s knelt down beside the dog, enthusiastically rubbing her belly. “My favorite girl.” 

“And here I was, thinking for all these years that I was your favorite,” Jemma teases. She snatches the sandwich on the plate in front of him and takes a bite, making a face as she attempts to swallow it. She turns toward the fridge, pulls out a jar of pesto aioli, and quickly adds some to his lunch as he plays with her dog. 

“What did you just do?” he asks suspiciously. 

“Saved you from choking to death. Should be proper now.” 

He takes a bite and moans, rolling his head back. “You’re a culinary genius, Jemma Simmons.” 

She smiles at him and slides onto a barstool. “So what brings you by?” 

“Got your message, sorry, I was out with Skye,” Fitz explains. His words cause a strange stirring in her but she ignores it. “Thought we could go over the notes here instead of my place.” 

“You don’t want me at your place?” she asks immediately. His eyes widen. 

“I was just closer to yours,” he explains carefully. “Why wouldn’t I want you at my place?” 

Jemma looks down at the counter awkwardly. “I’m not sure. Just haven’t seen much of you lately, that’s all.” 

He looks at her carefully as he chews, speaking after he swallows. “Did TMZ do that stupid Fitzsimmons on the Fritz thing again?” 

She nods sheepishly and he groans. “C’mon, Jem, you know that’s all bullshit. Skye’s really nice, she’s a good friend and we both know I don’t exactly have enough of those.” 

“Do you have a crush on her?” Jemma blurts out. He stills for a moment and then shrugs. 

“She’s pretty, funny, talented—I mean, sure, I guess I do.” 

Jemma hums noncommitantly and stands up, just to give herself something to do. She approaches the fridge, pulls out a bottle of water, and takes a long sip. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, brow furrowed. “You seem like something’s wrong. This isn’t like—like before, is it?” 

“No, no, I’m fine,” Jemma assures him. She internally blesses whatever gods granted her with extraordinary acting abilities. “Guess I must just be nervous about tomorrow.” 

He nods understandingly and beckons her closer. She steps into his space and lets him hug her as Widget attempts to get in the middle, darting around their feet excitedly. 

“They’re gonna give us the funding, Jemma. It’s all just a formality. Even if the movie was shite—“ 

She pulls back to glare at him, and he holds his hands up in front of him in surrender. 

“—which I’m not saying that it is, they’d still give it to us because it’ll bring people in to the theater. People come out to see us, together, and they know that.” 

Jemma smiles at that. He’s not being arrogant, that’s just how it is. Ever since their first film together at only seventeen years old, their partnership had drawn large audiences across genres. It didn’t hurt that they continually won critical acclaim for their roles as well. 

“Yes, well, we know how poorly it went when you attempted to do that superhero film without me,” Jemma points out with a little smirk, remembering the trainwreck that was nineteen year old Fitz as Spiderman. 

“It’s not my fault they decided to CGI the bloody suit!” 

Jemma laughs and cuts him off before his rant regarding that particular incident builds to a point that she can’t stop it. “Let me go grab my notecards for the presentation. I’ll be right back.” 

She darts up the stairs and hears him begin to chat with Widget, which brings a smile to her face. His love for her little mutt never fails to make her beam. She finds them easily in her little study and trots back down the stairs with notecards in hand. He takes one look at the stack and begins shaking his head. 

“No, no, no, Jemma, that is too much.” 

“Fitz! We need to be prepared!” 

“I know you, and I quote you on this, ‘excel at preparation’, but this is ridiculous. I’m not memorizing all of that.” 

“You can memorize the script of an entire film, but you can’t memorize these!” 

“I’m pretty sure that those are longer than most film scripts,” he argues back, snatching them out of her hands. “Jemma! No ice breaking puns. You’re not good at them.” 

“I’m great at them,” she shoots back. 

“Name one time that anyone has ever laughed at your puns.” 

“When we first met Phil, remember? He loved them. He still does!” 

“Phil is the exception, not the rule,” Fitz laughs. “Besides, you know that Phil has a horrible sense of humor. Remember when he wanted us to do that awful parody film of Twilight?” 

Jemma groans, dropping her head into her hands just at the thought of it. “Okay, fair enough, that was the worst screenplay I’ve ever read.” 

“If only Phil was the one we were pitching too,” Fitz observes dryly. “You know he’d love our screenplay.” 

She smacks him lightly on the arm. “The producers loved the screenplay already. It’s just about the money at this point.” 

“And they’ll give it to us, I’m sure,” Fitz assures her again, putting an arm around her in an effort to calm her down. She sinks into his side and pecks him on the cheek. 

“Okay, fine. You don’t have to memorize the cards, but I’m going to.” 

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it, just said I would complain about it.” 

“Ah, yes, as you do about everything,” she winks. “Do you think they’ll make us audition for the roles?” 

Fitz snorts. “Really, Jemma?” 

“I was just wondering!” she squeaks indignantly. He shakes his head fondly and then pats her arm. 

“Don’t forget we have to go to that thing tonight,” he reminds her. She groans and drops her head to the countertop. 

“What’s this one for again?” 

“Oh, c’mon, you’re the one who signed us up to be the sponsors for this. For girls in STEM, remember?” 

Jemma sighs heavily. “Ah, yes. I got too in to that part as the scientist, didn’t I?” 

“You were very method about it,” Fitz agrees. They sit in silence for a minute, punctuated only by the noises of Widget playing with a chew toy in the corner. “Oh hey, do you think we could bring Skye? I’m sure the press would really help her out. The show’s ratings aren’t great right now, so we’re trying to—“ 

“We?” 

“I meant—she, she’s trying to put herself out there more. Be seen, do some mingling, try to bolster herself up. She’s the romantic lead of the show, so if people get invested in her, they might get more invested in the character.” 

“Yes, I do know how that works, Fitz,” Jemma says irritably. “I’ll make a call to the people in charge, have them put her on the list, then.” 

Fitz grins, oblivious to her lack of enthusiasm at the thought. “Great! I’ll give her a call and let her know.” 

He leans forward, pecking her on the cheek and giving Widget one last pat before he’s out the door, phone to his ear and hands noticeably absent of notecards.

They were supposed to attend the event together, but now she wonders if he’s going with Skye instead. The thought makes her indescribably sad, and she glances down at Widget morosely. She bends down, picks up her little mutt, and heads for the stairs. 

“Come on, Widge. I think today is a good day to binge watch Grey’s Anatomy, don’t you?” 

She changes into some sweats, curls up with her dog, and presses play on Netflix. Widget snuggles up beside her under the blankets and Jemma is once again reminded what a wonderful idea it had been to get a dog, but then that thought leads her back to Fitz, which leads her back to the way he’s been dismissing her for his new friend Skye. 

It only takes three episodes to get her mind off of her own situation, because at least she hasn’t lost her leg in a fiery plane wreck and had a falling out with her wife like one of the doctors on the show. It only takes one more after that to have her dozing in and out in the sweet place between waking and dreaming. One more after that, and she passes out. 

She is woken up by Fitz and a decidedly unfamiliar female giggle. 

“I can’t believe I’m meeting Jemma Simmons,” the girl gushes. “I especially can’t believe I’m waking her up.” 

Widget is darting around on her king sized bed, eagerly trying to say hello to Fitz and also meet the newcomer in the room. Jemma blinks blearily, confused to find Fitz standing above her bed in a nicely cut grey suit. Skye stands behind him in a hot pink dress, and Jemma nearly sighs at the sight alone. The girl is beautiful, there’s no denying it, and she smiles brightly at Jemma as she wipes drool from the corner of her mouth.

Lovely. Just the kind of first impression she wants to make. 

“What’re you doing?” she finally mumbles. 

“We have to leave in like, ten minutes!” Fitz laughs, tugging her up out of bed. “I would help pick your outfit, but we both remember last time you let me try that.” 

Skye giggles and moves toward the closet. “This I can help with!” 

Jemma continues to blink, and Fitz looks at her worriedly. “You okay?” 

“Just a bit overwhelmed,” she grimaces. She hears an enthusiastic squeal from her closet. 

“You should totally wear this one. It still has tags, so I assume you haven’t worn it yet.” 

Jemma looks over at the sky blue dress in her hands and nods. “Sure, yeah, I’ll wear that one. Can I have a minute? I’ll be down as soon as I can.” 

Skye hands it to her and then nervously lingers in the doorway. “I’m Skye, by the way. Skye Johnson.” 

“Yes, I know, Skye,” Jemma says as patiently as she can. “Nice to meet you.” 

“You too!” the brunette says brightly, darting out of the door. Fitz rubs a hand on the back of his neck. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—“ 

“It’s fine,” she says shortly. “Just let me get dressed, okay?” 

He still seems unsure, but he shuffles off down the hall anyway, shutting her door softly. She sighs heavily, scrubbing her hands over her unmade face before ripping the tags from the dress and slipping into it. Rushing to her bathroom, she does her makeup as quickly as she can, the way that her stylist Kara taught her to in case she was ever in a bind. She clicked on her straightener, laughing lightly as Widget darts between her feet while she tries to pick out a pair of heels. She settles for some grey ones that nearly match Fitz’s suit, but hesitates; she’s spent eight years matching with Fitz on the red carpet, and it’s a habit that she suspects will die hard if he ever settles down with anyone else. 

She shakes herself from her train of thought, runs her straightener through her hair as thoroughly as possible in the short time allotted, and accepts that she looks as good as she can get at this point. Jemma shoves her phone and a couple of other essentials into a small clutch, bends down to pat Widget, and dashes down the stairs to find Fitz and Skye chatting in her living room. 

“Everyone says you and Jemma are so tight, it’s like you’re psychically linked,” Skye tells him excitedly, leaning forward toward him on the couch. He shifts uncomfortably. 

“Y’know what? No, I don’t--I don’t think so…” 

Something about his denial of their closeness stabs at her, but she pastes on a smile and descends the last few stairs. 

“Are you two ready?” 

They both glance up at her, and Skye lets out a sound of appreciation. 

“How did you do that so fast?” Skye exclaims. “You’ve gotta show me how to do that.” 

As much as Jemma doesn’t want to like her, and as suspicious as she still is of the other woman’s intentions with Fitz, she can’t help but be a little endeared by her shiny enthusiasm. 

“Perhaps I will. Fitz? Shall we?” 

He’s looking at her with an expression she’s seen from him fairly often, but she’s never quite been able to place what it is. It’s the only thing she can’t read about him, and it’s always irked her slightly, but the mystery of it also pleases her. There’s something nice about being so close to someone for so long, only to still wonder about them. Fitz is the most interesting person she knows, even in this town of incredibly eccentric people. She’s never found anyone as interesting as she finds him, and she often doubts that she ever will. 

He smiles at her and stands, gesturing toward the door. “After you, Simmons.” 

“Last name basis, are we?” 

“He seems to prefer that,” Skye points out as she follows him outside. 

“Oh, yes, never call him by his first name,” Jemma laughs, locking her door. “Who’s driving?” 

Fitz falters for a moment. “Oh. Right. We came on our way cause you hadn’t answered my texts, so--we could all go together, but I brought the Porsche for me and Skye—“ 

Jemma’s entire body goes cold. She gulps down a thick breath and nods, attempting to paste a smile onto her face. It’s brittle and physically hurts, but she holds it anyway. 

“Not a problem. I’ll drive myself.” 

Skye looks distinctly uncomfortable, wringing her hands together. “Why don’t we all go in Jemma’s car?” 

Jemma shakes her head quickly. “No, no, it’s fine. Fitz loves to drive his Porsche. Showy, if you ask me. I’m alright on my own.” 

Fitz looks at her like he’s kicked her puppy (which he never would, given his affection for Widget), and she can’t handle the pity on his face. She’s also angry, because they’re always each other’s default date and if for some reason one of them decides to bring someone, they expressly tell one another so that the other can invite a date themselves. 

Unable to handle his gaze anymore, she climbs into her car and turns it on, pretending to fiddle with her phone so that her face isn’t visible as tears burn at her eyes. Her hands shake slightly as she plugs her phone in to her aux cable, putting Lance’s album on once again and letting the music fill the crushing silence of her car as she drives toward the venue for the event. At some point on the freeway, she sees Fitz’s Porsche zoom past her Audi. 

She hates walking the red carpet alone, hates the interviews by herself and really, really hates posing for photos. Where is she supposed to put her hands? After eight years of this, she still hasn’t become accustomed to it. In so many ways, she feels like the same seventeen year old, nervously walking her first red carpet at the Oscars. Only then, she’d had Fitz to clutch onto for dear life. 

Sucking in a deep breath through her nose, she releases it through her mouth and smiles as convincingly as she can at the valet driver, handing him her keys and preparing herself for the onslaught of camera flashes. 

“You’ve won three Oscars,” she whispers to herself. “You can do this, Simmons.” 

Her little pep talk works, and somehow, she channels the hurt she’s feeling into being more dazzling then ever. She jokes with reporters about her dress, tells the story of waking up only 30 minutes prior, and makes insightful comments about the importance of empowering young women. She runs into Bobbi on the carpet with her new beau, and they take a few photos together so that he can run off and hide from the cameras. 

“He’s still new to this,” Bobbi explains through her teeth as she smiles at a camera over her shoulder. Jemma laughs and nods at her, hand on her arm congenially. 

“Does this look alright? And yes, he’s not exactly a popstar. His album is fantastic, though.” 

“Isn’t it?” Bobbi grins enthusiastically. This time, the smile is real and it warms Jemma to see her aloof friend excited about love. Becoming a super model straight out of high school had given Bobbi a very different experience with men than most, and Jemma felt for her. The two of them had bonded over shared experiences at a luncheon when they were nineteen and twenty-one, respectively. Jemma had Bobbi to thank for much of her knowledge of navigating the social strata of Hollywood. 

Jemma tunes out the questions being shouted at Fitz and Skye as they make their way down the line up ahead. She chats amicably with a few more reporters, does a funny joint interview with Bobbi that she’s sure will wind up on Buzzfeed, and then slips away with her blonde friend in search of Lance. 

“Sorry about that,” Jemma greets when they find him, lurking near the bar inside. “Hard to meet someone in all those flashes. I’m—“ 

“Know who you are, love. Hunter.” 

“Oh! I thought your name was Lance.” 

“It is, I just prefer going by Hunter.” 

“Ah,” Jemma muses, smile tugging at her lips. “Much like Fitz, then.” 

He obviously doesn’t need an explanation for who Fitz is, since her statement is just met with a nod. Bobbi and Jemma each order a drink before finding their table numbers. Bobbi and Hunter are at Table 3, but unlucky Jemma is at Table 1. Of course, with Fitz. 

“I’m sure someone would switch with you,” Hunter says naively when Jemma weakly whines about the situation to Bobbi. 

Bobbi laughs fondly and ruffles his hair as he bats her hands away. “He’s so cute. So new to all this.” 

“It’s all about cameras and angles and where they can find me,” Jemma explains to him, rolling her eyes. She sighs heavily and looks regretfully at the front-and-center table where Fitz and Skye have just begun settling in. “Might as well get this evening over with, hm?” 

Bobbi squeezes her arm as she and Hunter head toward their own seats, and Jemma is grateful to find that she hadn’t wasted all of her charisma with the cameras. She slips in to a seat on the other side of the table from Fitz and Skye, pleased to find a few other familiar faces seated there as well. 

“Trip!” she exclaims happily as he pulls out the chair beside hers and drops into it. She gives him a once over and a smirk. “Looking as dapper as ever.” 

“You’re looking lovely yourself, Jemma Simmons,” he grins, leaning in to kiss her cheek. Across the table, she notices Fitz stiffen but ignores it. He’s always prickly at these kinds of events. Maybe they’re not going together will be a lovely addition to the evening, since she won’t need to babysit him into being nice to people. 

“How have you been? Working on anything exciting?” she asks, fiddling absently with her tumbler of whisky. 

“I just wrapped on that rom com you turned down,” he teases. “Trying to decide if I wanna take this part I got offered as a guest star on a TV show—I’m leaning toward no.”

Skye’s ears perk up and she leans toward them. “Hi!” 

Trip looks at her with raised eyebrows and she winces, waving absently with her hands. 

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to just interrupt you like that. Or eavesdrop on you. It’s just, you’re Antoine Triplett, right?” 

“I am,” he says, extending his hand. She daintily places hers in his and gives him what Jemma has to admit is an extremely charming smile. 

“Skye Johnson,” she responds. “I think it’s actually my show that made you that offer.” 

Trip’s eyebrows somehow raise higher. Jemma winces, wanting to stop Skye from committing a classic Hollywood faux pas, but Fitz beats her to it. 

“Trip’s always fielding a lot of offers,” he tells Skye easily. “I’m sure he’s considering yours.” 

Trip just nods easily, leaning back toward his conversation with Jemma without completely blocking the other two out. “Yeah, definitely. Anyway, yeah, I just screen tested for the adaptation of that novel, The Night Circus?” 

“Oh!” Jemma bounces excitedly. “I love that book! I was hoping to test for it.” 

“Please don’t,” Trip jokes, nodding toward the Scot who seems dead set on setting a record for fastest consumption of an alcoholic beverage. “Cause you’ll get the part, and then they’ll give mine away to Fitz.” 

Fitz stands abruptly, shaking his empty glass and mumbling a question to Skye about whether she wants him to get her anything. Skye’s eyes widen at his sudden departure and then she stares at her hands on the table, looking entirely out of place. 

Jemma remembers that feeling distinctly, still often has it, and wonders if it will ever really go away. She glances toward where Bobbi murmurs quietly to Hunter, tucked into him intimately even in this public setting, and remembers how the model had helped her navigate these waters. 

“So Skye, how are you enjoying working on television?” Jemma asks politely. She is rewarded with a bright, relieved smile, and she feels her resentment toward the other girl slowly melting away. 

“I love it,” she gushes. “My crew and cast are just—they’re so amazing. It’s almost like a family. We’re only halfway through the season, and we haven’t been renewed yet but it’s been such a fantastic experience.”

“What are the hours like?” Jemma asks curiously. “I’ve done a couple of cameos, but nothing like shooting an entire season.” 

“Oh, they can be really long,” Skye admits. “But like I said, working with the people I love really makes it go by faster. I’m sure movies are the same.” 

Jemma smiles softly, answering the question just as Fitz returns. He glances at her nervously, and she knows he’s aware that he’d hurt her earlier. The look he’s giving her is the kind he wears when he’s terrified she’s either going to blow up at him, cry, or disappear on him. 

She’s still upset, but decides to at least put him out of his misery. “I know there’s a lot of shoots I wouldn’t have survived without Fitz.” 

“It’s insane to me how many things you two have done together,” Trip chuckles. 

“Twenty-one,” they reply in unison. 

“Come to think of it, the only thing I ever saw that you two weren’t in together was when Fitz did Recovery,” Skye mentions off-handedly. Both Fitz and Jemma noticeably tense; neither Skye nor Trip seem to notice, though. 

“Or when Jemma did Hydra,” Trip supplies. 

Skye brightens. “Oh yeah! You were so badass in that.” 

Jemma gives her a brittle smile, fighting down the nausea that still erupts whenever anyone mentions her and Fitz’s time apart. It had only been six months, only long enough for them each to do their own movie—but it had been the worst six months of her life. 

“Thank you, Skye.” 

Waiters come out then, saving her from continuing this conversation about her ghosts, and she risks a glance at her partner. Her earlier jealousy and hurt tucks away somewhere else in the back of her mind, the instinct to check on him moving to the forefront. He’s already looking at her, thoughtfully with a hint of sadness. When she meets his eyes, he gives her a little nod and smile, which she returns with a small crinkle of her nose. 

At least for now, for this moment, they’re okay. 

They make it through the rest of the night, agree to meet up thirty minutes before their meeting at a coffee shop down the street from the studio, and then go their separate ways. She watches him open the car door for Skye and fights against the sinking feeling that it causes. 

When she gets homes, she immediately kicks off her heels in front of the door. Even though it’s nearing two in the morning, Widget trots happily to her feet, tail wagging. 

“Well, Widge, looks like it’s you and I, hm?” 

She scrubs off her makeup, pulls her hair into a ponytail, and changes back into her earlier sweatpants. She glances at her closet and briefly considers laying out her clothes for tomorrow, but changes her mind at the last second and opts to simply set her alarm an hour earlier. 

The last thing she sees before she falls asleep is the picture of Fitz she set as her background, snapped in his living room as they worked on their screenplay.


	2. Tabled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is SO MUCH ANGST. I apologize sincerely for that, but I assure you, this will have a bright, shiny, and fluffy Hollywood-style ending. 
> 
> However, there is a TRIGGER WARNING in this chapter for referenced suicide and depression. It's nothing explicit, but it seemed worth a mention. I'm going to up the rating on this, because I may even attempt a bit of smut in this one. We'll see what happens on that one :)

He’s late. 

Fitz being late isn’t something she’s entirely unaccustomed to, but that’s only when it’s not important. He’ll say he’ll be over in fifteen, but it really takes him thirty minutes, or he’ll barely make it to the movies before the previews are over (which drives her insane, because previews are the best part). This, however, is important. This is their big meeting, for their big project, the thing that they’ve been referring to as their baby for nearly a year. 

She dials his cell one more time, and is sent straight to voicemail. Her paranoia rises up in her, and she starts to worry that he’d been up all night with Skye and his phone was dead. 

If his phone a was dead, he’d have missed his alarm. 

She chugs down the rest of her paper cup of tea and glances at the time again. The meeting starts in ten minutes, and maybe when she arrives at the office, he’ll be waiting in the lobby with a cup for her in his hand and a cheeky comment about her being the late one. 

Nodding resolutely, she leaves the Starbucks, pointedly ignoring the few people taking photos, and walks quickly to the highrise a few doors down. Her nude pumps click powerfully on the pavement and she lets the sound fuel her forward, clutching her handbag a little bit tighter. 

She swings open the door with her breath caught in her chest, resulting in a painful exhale when she finds the lobby empty. Pasting a smile onto her face, she approaches the security guard at the desk. 

“Hello, sir. Jemma Simmons for Victoria Hand. We have a 10:30 meeting.” 

“I know who you are, miss,” the older man smiles. “Hey, I never ask this, but my daughter Michelle is a huge fan. She’s sixteen and it’s pretty hard to impress her these days. Would you mind an autograph?” 

The last thing that Jemma wants to do is be cheery and shiny right now, but he’s incredibly genuine and she never turns down a polite request. She agrees with a grin, takes the sheet of paper, and jots down “Dear Michelle, Your dad is the COOLEST. Love, Jemma Simmons” and then hands it back to him. 

“Do you have your cell phone on you?” Jemma asks. “In case your daughter doesn’t believe you.” 

She snaps a quick selfie with him and the autograph in her hand, and then accepts the security pin from him. 

“Thank you so much, Miss Simmons!” he calls after her. She turns to give him a wave. 

“Not a problem, Henry! Have a lovely afternoon.” 

Once she reaches the elevators, she does a quick scan to make sure nobody is around before she exhales shakily and looks up toward the ceiling to prevent the tears from falling. 

Fitz is either late or he’s not showing up, and that would be all well and fine if this project didn’t mean so bloody much to her. She’d thought it meant just as much to him, but apparently she had been wrong. 

For the first time in a long time, Jemma wondered if she knew what Fitz was thinking at all. 

“Pull yourself together,” she whispers under her breath as the elevator dings its arrival. She steps inside, squares her shoulders, and gets ready to do the best that she can without her other half. 

She’d spent six months without him and still gotten an Oscar nomination for her role. She had spent six months without him before and she had survived it, and she can certainly survive this meeting. Besides, everyone always said that she was the charmer of the two of them, at least out of the gate. 

The elevators open and Victoria Hand’s plucky assistant is on her in an instant. “Hello, Miss Simmons! I’m Victoria’s assistant, Callie. Can I get you anything to drink?” 

“No thank you, Callie,” Jemma smiles politely. 

“Is Mr. Fitz on his way?” 

“You know, I’m actually unsure. I think that Ms. Hand and I should just proceed without him.” 

Callie’s brow furrows and she stops her nearly jog-speed walking. Jemma nearly stumbles as she attempts to stop herself from running into Callie’s back. 

“Victoria made it very clear that she wanted to meet with both you and Leo Fitz.” 

“Yes, well I wanted to meet with both Victoria and Fitz as well, but Fitz is, unfortunately, not here,” Jemma says through gritted teeth. She hopes her tone is more patient than she feels. 

Callie claps her hands together uncomfortably. “Let me go pop in and see if she’d still like to meet with you.” 

Jemma is left standing awkwardly in the hallway, digging her perfectly manicured fingernails into her palms. Her left hand reaches up to brush against the pendant on her neck, gifted to her by Fitz right after they finished up shooting their first movie together, titled simply “Chemistry”. 

“Miss Simmons?” Callie asks nervously. “Victoria will see you now.” 

Jemma plasters her best, most professional smile on and steps into Victoria Hand’s massive corner office. The executive stands, startlingly intimidating in her sleek suit. Her hair is artfully streaked with bold red, and Jemma is fairly certain that only Victoria Hand could make the look somehow professional. 

“Jemma Simmons,” Victoria greets, shaking her hand firmly. “Victoria Hand. Great to meet you.” 

“And you as well,” Jemma responds as evenly as she can. Victoria gestures at the chair on the other side of the desk, so she slowly sits, crossing her legs at the ankle just as Melinda taught her to when she’d been a clumsy seventeen year old. 

“I was under the impression that Mr. Fitz would be joining us,” Victoria says pointedly. 

“You know, I was, too,” Jemma attempts to joke. It falls flat and she shakes her head. “I’m so sorry. I honestly don’t know where he is, but I assure you, Fitz and I have worked incredibly hard on this project and we are wholeheartedly committed to delivering a high quality production.” 

“Jemma,” Victoria interrupts. “I’m a very busy woman, so I’m going to need you to give this to me straight. I’d heard the Leo Fitz was solidly back on the rails, but if he isn’t—“ 

“This isn’t like that,” Jemma rushes to say. 

“His breakdown on the set of The Whole Time was a catastrophe. The studio lost huge money on that project.” 

Jemma sucks in a sharp breath through her nose and tilts her chin upward. “It’s not like that. Fitz has been doing excellent. I’m not sure if you’ve had a chance to see our latest film, but—“ 

“I did,” Victoria cuts her off, raising a hand. “And you were both excellent, as always. The studio is willing to give you funding, but only if it’s both of you. People want to see FitzSimmons. You were great in Hydra, he was great in Recovery, but neither of you won awards for those roles and I think we both know why.” 

“Fitz and I are better together,” Jemma admits. “Which is why this film will be so successful! Because not only will we star in it together, it’ll be our brainchild, start to finish, and I don’t need to explain to you—“ 

“His lack of professionalism in showing up for this meeting,” Victoria drawls, “and your obvious lack of awareness about where he is demonstrates to me that all of these tabloid rumors of the two of you being out of sync once again concerns me. We’re tabling this discussion for a later date.” 

Her voice is crisp and dismissive, and it feels like a knife through Jemma’s gut. She swallows hard, thanks Victoria for a time, and uses all of her self control to walk calmly to the elevator instead of dashing out of their as fast as she can. 

She is devastated and simultaneously so furious with him that she thinks she could punch him square in the nose and feel no remorse for it. She retrieves her car from the valet and nearly runs over a couple of photographers in her desperate desire to get home, rip off her best business dress, and crawl into her bed and cry. 

She half expects his car to be in her driveway when she arrives home thirty minutes later, but it’s not. She can’t decide if it’s relieving or upsetting. Jemma swings open the door. 

“Move, Widget!” Jemma snaps as she slips out of her pumps. Widget doesn’t pick up on her vibe and desperately chases her up the stairs. She struggles to unzip her dress, peeling it off of herself and kicking it onto the floor. Feeling petulant and childish, she stomps on the discarded fabric. Widget leaps anxiously onto the bed, spinning in tiny circles before she plops down in a protective little heap. 

“UGH!” Jemma screams. She digs into her purse, finding the notecards she’d written out for a presentation she didn’t even get a chance to do. She uses all of the strength in her to tear them apart. 

And then she starts sobbing, falling to her knees in her lingerie. The cries rip from her throat and she can’t control them. Her face falls into her hands as she tries to control them, but it’s been bottled up for too long and there’s no stopping what’s already started. Widget paces anxiously on the bed behind her and Jemma makes a sloppy effort to reassure her small dog that she’s okay. Even if Widget could understand English, even in her compromised state Jemma knows that she’s incomprehendable.

Her phone buzzes and she fumbles for it, barely able to read Bobbi’s name on the screen. It’s text, something about a news alert and Jemma nearly running somebody over. She throws her phone to the side and gulps down an anguished breath. 

A loud, squeaking noise permeates the brief silence and she eventually, slowly, manages to calm down. Widget looks seriously concerned and decidedly nervous, which just makes Jemma feel even worse. Not bothering to put on some clothes, she crawls onto her bed and holds her dog against her.

“I’m sorry, baby,” she whimpers. “I’m okay. We’re okay.” 

Just to fill the silence and distract her from the scraps of paper strewn all over her carpet like confetti, she clicks on her Netflix and opts for Gilmore Girls as her companion.

After two episodes of Lorelai and Rory chatting in the background of her despair, she manages to get up to retrieve her phone. Still nothing from Fitz, but she types a quick response to Bobbi to let her know that she’s alright and just wants to be alone, but asks if she’d want to hang out in the evening. Jemma knows herself. If she lets herself be alone, this spiral will only grow worse. 

She almost manages to distract herself completely, slowly pulling herself back together and tying her silk robe around herself to pad downstairs and make a quick lunch. She only manages a couple of bites but she still considers it a success. 

She’s just reached her bedroom once again when her front door opens. Jemma snaps her eyes shut defensively, hands curling into fists at her sides. Widget darts past her, and the lack of barking alerts Jemma that the newcomer to her home is, indeed, Fitz. 

He murmurs to Widget. “Where’s your mum? I’ve got some groveling to do.” 

Her back is to him when she hears him in her doorway, and she doesn’t turn around. He puts Widget down and huffs out a breath. She assumes that he’s looking at the confetti that her notecards have been unceremoniously transformed into. 

“Jemma,” he croaks. His voice is horse and wretched, and she knows that he understands how badly he’s messed up. This does nothing to comfort her. 

She spins around letting him see what a wreck she is. She hasn’t bothered to wash away the mascara smeared across her face, and her skin is still red and splotchy. Even though she’d perfectly coiffed her hair for the meeting, it’s a disaster now. She wants him to see all of it, doesn’t even care that her robe is slipping off of her shoulder. 

He gulps and his hands twitch at his sides as though he wants to reach out for her but he controls the impulse and instead takes a tentative step in her direction. 

“I am so sorry.” 

“Where the hell were you?” she spits. 

“I—I was out late last night, and I crashed on Skye’s couch—“ 

She laughs bitterly, throwing her hands up. “You have to be fucking kidding me.” 

“It was an accident!” he begs. “Please, Jemma, you know I would never do something like this on purpose. My phone was dead, I didn’t wake up to my alarm. I ran to the office as soon as I woke up, but the security guard said you’d already left—“ 

“Yes, because Victoria Hand has tabled our project,” Jemma hisses, gulping down the lump forming in her throat. She looks away from his guilty eyes because she just can’t stand to see that expression on his face, as though his remorse can fix any of this. 

“I’m going to fix it,” Fitz pleads, hands diving into his mop of curls. “I’ll get another meeting with Hand, we’ll work it out. We always fix it. Together.” 

“Not this time,” she whispers, dragging the back of her hand over her cheeks where tears have started to flow. “The project is dead, Fitz. All of that work, for nothing. I hope Skye was worth that.” 

She attempts to brush past him, no longer wanting to be anywhere near him. She feels like an idiot. Her paranoia had been absolutely on point, and it makes her nauseous with anger and betrayal. 

Fitz catches her arm and spins her back toward him. She yanks away from him as though his touch burns and he gasps painfully. 

“We went to an afterparty so that I could introduce her to some people,” Fitz attempts to explain. “Jemma, you have to understand, I was just trying to—“ 

“Trying to what, Fitz?” she snaps. “Trying to date a girl who’s probably using you? Trying to show her what a ‘nice guy’ you are? Trying to distance yourself as far away from me as you possibly can?” 

“What—what are you talking about?” 

“I heard you yesterday, denying how close we are,” she exclaims. Her voice is rising, and she can’t stop it. It’s all out of her power now. She and Fitz have filmed so many fight scenes worse than this one, but it’s so much worse when it’s them. They’re not anyone but themselves and it hurts, so badly. “I’m not stupid. I know why that is.” 

“I—“ 

“Stop it!” she shouts, stepping back and covering her eyes with her hand as a small cry erupts from her. She feels him move closer to her and she moves back again. “Don’t. Don’t touch me.” 

He ignores her and moves into her space anyway. He desperately grasps at her hands and she yanks them away. 

She can hear that his voice is thick with tears but she won’t look at him. “Jemma, it’s not what you think. I promise.” 

“Do you want to know why?” Jemma growls, meeting his eyes. 

“Why what?” he gasps out. 

“Why they’ve killed the project?” 

He remains silent, jaw clenched tightly. 

“You didn’t show up and she said that it’s proof that you and I are out of sync again. She compared it to what happened on The Whole Time—“ 

“Don’t,” he growls. “Do not throw that in my face.” 

“I don’t have to,” she counters. “This isn’t even about us anymore, Fitz, if you can’t keep It together and show up on time, your career—“ 

“Don’t talk about my career!” he shouts. She flinches against the sound and he deflates instantly. 

“Your career is my career,” she admits weakly. “Everyone wants FitzSimmons. But nobody is convinced we can even give them that anymore. Can we?” 

There is a long moment of tense silence. They stand a few feet apart, her robe practically undone and him, in his rumpled clothes from the previous night’s event. 

“I needed you, and you left,” he finally says. “And why? Because you thought I was useless?” 

“I never thought that!” she explodes. “After what happened to your mother, I completely understood that you needed some time, but Fitz, what you did—“ 

“I never should have called you.” 

She gasps. “Fitz—“ 

“I shouldn’t’ve.” 

“You would have died.” 

He shrugs his shoulders, defeated and broken. Part of her wants to wrap her arms around him and comfort him, but she’s also still too angry and her therapist told her time and time again that she has to stop enabling him at some point. 

“I’m not sorry that I was there to call 911,” she murmurs. “I will always be sorry that you felt that way, and that I couldn’t help you sooner…” 

“Why did you leave then?” 

“I can’t do this,” she whispers after a stretch of silence, pushing past him toward her bathroom. “I need to shower.” 

“Why did you leave?” he repeats. “Jemma. Why did you leave? Is it because—because of what I said that day?” 

She scoffs, slamming her shower door open and turning the water on. She turns to him with an incredulous expression. 

“Do you honestly think me so petty? Besides, you weren’t in your right mind—“ 

“I meant what I said.” 

She ignores this and plows forward. “Your doctor told me that I was making you worse, Fitz. So I took the role in Hydra when Phil offered it to me. He knew that I needed to leave and it was filming in New York.” 

He stumbles backward at the force of her confession. “Mack? Mack said that?” 

She nods resolutely. “Yes, he did. And I suppose it’s time you knew that, but Fitz, he was right. And none of this, none of this is why you’re here. I can’t…I can’t just ignore what you did today. You knew how much this movie meant to me.” 

“It means so much to me, too,” he pleads, stepping onto the marble and trying once again to hold her. He stills at her warning glance. “Jemma, we have worked so hard on this project, we poured everything into it. You have to know how important it is to me.” 

“Apparently not enough,” she sniffs, looking toward the ceiling. “I think you should go.” 

“What? We’re not done—“ 

“We are,” Jemma gasps out. “We are done.” 

His face goes entirely slack and then he turns on his heel, shutting the door behind him. She slaps her hands over her mouth to muffle her cries as she hears him begin to cry in her bedroom. He sobs out some nonsense to Widget and then he’s gone. She breaks all over again, hands falling from her mouth as she lets out a primal cry, gripping the sink with the force of her catharsis. 

Part of her thinks that the bathroom door is going to slam open, that he’s going to charge in and pull her into him, tell her again that he’s going to fix everything and that he’s sorry, but he won’t and she knows it. She yanks off her bra and underwear, stepping under the hot spray of the water. Jemma lets it burn her, and when she emerges, she does not feel better. 

She wriggles into some soft pants and a loose t-shirt, opening the bottle of her Xanax with shaking hands. She pops one in her mouth and dry swallows out, stroking a hand over Widget as she tries to calm down once again. 

The pill works its magic and she puts on a comic book movie that Trip did. Seeing her friend on screen puts her at ease, and she curls up against Widget with her phone by her side. She’s startled from her haze by a phone call from Bobbi. 

“Hey, I just got here,” her friend says into the phone. “Oh, your door is unlocked. Jemma!” 

She hangs up and obviously notices her absence on the first floor. Bobbi reaches her bedroom, takes one look around, and immediately crawls into bed beside her. 

“We don’t have to talk about it.” 

“Thank you,” Jemma mumbles, letting her friend pull her into a hug. 

“I brought wine,” Bobbi suggests. Jemma shakes her head. 

“I took a Xanex about four hours ago. I can’t drink for another two or so.” 

“That’s fine,” Bobbi soothes, running a hand over her hair. 

They sit in relative silence for a long while. When Jemma is able, she drags herself up and leads the way downstairs to the wine bottle. She manages to tell Bobbi the bare bones of her story without breaking down again, and she supposes that it’s because she’s all cried out. Bobbi listens sympathetically, exclaiming in outrage where appropriate. 

They finish the bottle of wine and switch to happier topics, like Bobbi’s fledgling romance and some light gossip about their friends. 

For those precious hours, the ache in her chest goes away. As soon as Bobbi heads home and the lock clicks in place on her front door, it rushes back. Feeling buzzed and entirely too sad, Jemma tosses and turns for hours before sleep finally finds her.


	3. A Broken System

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the aftermath of their blowout: radio silence. As much as Jemma wants to live in her pity party, she's got Vogue shoots and an insistent manager. Good thing she also has Bobbi and her new rockstar boyfriend to help her blow off some steam. 
> 
>  
> 
> (Full disclosure, there's no Fitz in this chapter. This fic has mostly been from Jemma's POV and I didn't want to awkwardly shift between their perspectives. Don't worry, though, Fitz will be making an appearance in the next chapter.)

Jemma spends four days after her fight with Fitz wallowing. Just as they have a system for bringing dates to events, they also have a system for fighting. Fitz is the kind of person who requires immediate reconciliation if someone has hurt him. His insecurities and self-doubt rear their ugly head when left unchecked by an apology. But that’s only the system when she’s the one who has done something wrong. This time, their fight is on him. 

He knows to give her a few days to wallow, analyze, compartmentalize why she’s feeling the particular things that she is, and then come to her. Ordinarily, he approaches her on day three. 

By day four, and she’s received nothing. No phone call, no text message, not even an email. What she has received is a news alert on her phone showing a photo of he and Skye out at some nightclub during the evening of day two. It tells her just about everything she needs to know, only managing to prolong her wallowing period. 

Unfortunately, her manager has no patience for her moods. Melinda May practically breaks down her door on the morning of day five. As always, she is dressed in black and dark blue. Melinda is the only person that Jemma has ever known who could pull off such a look. 

She takes one long, dispassionate look at Jemma’s dishevelment, completely ignoring Widget’s eager whining at her feet. 

“Did you forget we have a Vogue shoot today?” 

Jemma’s heart plummets. “Oh no. It’s not with—“ 

May shakes her head sharply. “It’s a solo shoot and interview. They’ll have a full makeup and hair team, so just put on some presentable clothes. We need to get going.” 

“Are we sure we can’t cancel?” 

“My job is not to cancel shoots. It’s to schedule shoots, and interviews, and make sure you still have a career. Go upstairs and get dressed.” 

Jemma sighs, putting a hand over her face. “You’re right. If I wanted a babysitter I would have hired one of the Koenig brothers.” 

Melinda’s lips quirk up in a rare smile. “Go. Now.” 

Jemma darts up the stairs and peruses her closet quickly, opting for a comfy pair of boyfriend jeans and a fitted black t-shirt. Her hair is in sloppy waves and she applies a quick coat of mascara and a bit of BB cream. Any actress who shows up to a shoot “with no makeup on” is absolutely lying, and Jemma Simmons is the first one to admit that. 

“Melinda!” she calls down the stairs. “Do you think it’s okay if I bring Widge?” 

“Can’t Fitz watch him?” Melinda replies. 

Her heart drops again and she shakes her head before remembering that Melinda can’t see her. “We’re not in the best spot.” 

She knows Melinda won’t press because she never does. It’s one of the best things about having Melinda as her manager. She never grills Jemma for personal information, never cares about what’s in the tabloids unless it’s going to affect her chances at a role. Melinda is pure business with just enough caring to let Jemma know that she has her back, no matter what. 

That’s what happens when you’ve had the same manager since you were seventeen. 

Technically, Melinda and Phil are her management team, but a long time ago Melinda had taken over Jemma and Phil had taken over Fitz. The two of them are nearly as infamous a duo as FitzSimmons themselves. 

When Jemma comes down the stairs, she grabs her purse and scoops up Widget, only to be met with Melinda’s concerned eyes. 

“Is this like last time?” she asks. Her words fall heavily on Jemma’s chest and she shakes her head. 

“No. It’s not. I wouldn’t—I won’t let that happen again. But he messed up, big time.” 

“Talk while we drive,” Melinda says, moving for the front door. “We’ll take my car.” 

They climb into Melinda’s sensible mid-sized Acura SUV and Jemma spills everything, about how Fitz had been ditching her for Skye and then had missed their big meeting with Victoria Hand. Melinda doesn’t seem surprised by any of this information. 

“Vic called me,” Melinda tells her as she gets on the freeway. “She said that the screenplay is good enough that she might be willing to consider taking just you, but you’ll need a really good leading man.” 

“I don’t want to do it without Fitz,” Jemma argues. 

“But you don’t want to work with him right now, either,” Melinda shoots back. 

“No,” Jemma mumbles. “No, I don’t.” 

“Vic’s offer isn’t going to be on the table for long. She suggested a few people that she thought might be good, but you’re not going to like it.” 

Dread builds in her gut. “Who?” 

“Will Daniels,” Melinda says plainly, but Jemma can see the slight wince in her face as she speaks the name. Jemma sucks in a sharp breath. 

“Absolutely not. I would rather not make the film. And I can’t even imagine what it would do to me and Fitz—“ 

“Eventually you two are going to have to learn how to have functional relationships,” Melinda interrupts. “And that means you’ll have no choice but to grow apart.” 

“Fitz has nothing to do with why Will and I broke up.” 

Melinda just glances at her, unconvinced, but drops the subject. Jemma tries to shake her bad mood, scratching Widget behind the ears to sooth her building anxiety. If she goes into this interview in a dark place, they’ll eat her alive. The cover will say something about the “Dark Side of Jemma Simmons.” It’ll take weeks, and an excessive amount of fix-it interviews, to shake that image of her. 

It’s happened before, in those horrible months of separations between she and Fitz, and she doesn’t want to go through it again. Not when it feels like another devastating event is about to occur between them. 

They arrive at the shoot, in a large, well-lit loft in Santa Monica. She introduces herself to the interviewer, an enthusiastic young woman named Hannah, and they sit down at a table laden with pastries, coffee, and teas. Jemma makes herself up a cup of Earl Grey and lets Hannah finish setting up her recorder and notepad. 

“Full disclosure,” the blonde says nervously. “You’re my first big piece I’ve ever done, ad I’m a really big fan of yours. I’m a little bit terrified.” 

The dread in her stomach starts to dissipate and she smiles kindly at Hannah. “Please don’t be! I’m actually surprisingly normal and well-adjusted for a child star.” 

Hannah giggles and Melinda gives Jemma an approving nod from her position across the room. Jemma is positive Melinda is examining every inch of the art director’s plans and striking certain pieces of clothing from the wardrobe rack. Eighty-percent of Jemma’s image has been created and maintained by Melinda May. She’d be absolutely lost without her. 

“So tell me, Jemma, what is the strangest thing about being famous?” 

It’s a question she’s gotten a thousand times, but something in her feels honest today. She’s still so raw from the events of the last few days, and the words spill from her lips. 

“Your whole life is just….strange. Like, the other day, I went to walk my dog, and before I left I had to make sure I didn’t look sloppy at all. I’d just spent the night in by myself and lounged around the house all day but if I step out the door looking anything but put together, the tabloids will be running things about how I’m on drugs or something. It’s a very high level of scrutiny, and when I was younger it was a lot more difficult. But I’ve gotten used to it, as much as anyone can, I think.” 

Hannah nods in understanding. “What keeps you grounded?” 

Jemma hides her frown with her tea, buying herself some time as she takes a long gulp. It burns her throat but it helps her get back into character. “My family still lives in Sheffield, so visits home really keep me down to earth. My mum and dad don’t care how many Oscars I have, I’m still expected to do the dishes.” 

She laughs lightly, as does Hannah, but she presses on because she knows how to give a good interview, and she knows what Hannah wants her to say. 

“And then of course, my partnership with Fitz. I know we’ve both said it time and again, but I don’t think we’d have survived any of this without each other. When we met on the set of Chemistry, we had no idea what it would become and no way of knowing all of the amazing things we would create together. He’s probably the only person who can completely understand what my life has been like since that film. I can’t imagine my life without him.” 

She manages to hold back the desperate emotion that wants to bubble to the surface. Hannah looks extremely pleased with this information, and Jemma realizes she’s given her an opening for the next question that everyone has been speculating about. 

“The separation between you two was a big deal, but you’ve both declined to speak on it. Any chance you’d be willing to discuss it now?” 

Jemma smiles tightly. “What happened between us at that time was so intensely personal, and it’s a story that belongs to both of us. It wouldn’t feel right to share it, I’m sorry.” 

Hannah grimaces. “I’m sorry. My bosses would kill me if I didn’t try.” 

Jemma chuckles in understanding. “Don’t worry, it comes up every single time.” 

“What’s your favorite thing about acting?” 

That earns a real grin from Jemma. “Nearly everything about it. Stepping into the shoes of another person, telling these extremely human and visceral stories that pull you out of yourself—it gives you such an amazing understanding of what connects all of us. Just knowing that there are people who watch these films and sometimes it brings them an epiphany, or it makes them understand something new about themselves, or about someone unlike themselves. It’s a really beautiful thing.” 

Hannah blinks, stunned. “That was an even better answer than I could have asked for.” 

The rest of the interview goes swimmingly. Hannah feeds Jemma the kinds of questions that lead to great interviews—she asks her about what it means to be a woman in the entertainment industry, what the big differences are between her British upbringing and her Hollywood life, what kind of advice she would give to teenage girls. They talk about her personal style, rescuing Widget, and everything in between. 

When it’s time for the shoot, she hugs Hannah goodbye so that the other girl can rush to her office and write her article. Then she lets the hair and makeup people get ahold of her. She’s never been a fan of sitting in a chair for that long while she gets poked and prodded and molded into an image so unlike herself, but it’s part of the job description. 

They wrangle her in to a slinky, bejeweled gold dress and some strappy brown heels and she poses unnaturally on the floor in front of a white background. Then they put her in a few more gowns and have her lounge on and around a plain white sofa. The entire thing is so strange and it would be surreal if she hadn’t done this a million times before. They serve her mimosas between changes and by the time she’s done, she’s half-drunk and feeling significantly better. Melinda drives her home, ignoring her breathless rambling. 

She wants to do something tonight, get out of her house and her own head. She stares down at her phone and sighs at the background photo. It’s one of her and Fitz. It reminds her once again that he hasn’t called yet, that he’s made absolutely no effort to make things right. 

She wants to call him, hear his voice. She mostly just wants an apology from him and an opportunity to tell him that maybe they really can still get their project back on track. 

Jemma dials Bobbi and feels immediate relief when her friend answers. “Hey Jems! What’s up?” 

“I’m kind of buzzed after a Vogue interview and I really need to get out of my house tonight. Is there anything going on?” 

She can practically see Bobbi’s mischievous smile through the phone. “Actually, yes. One of Hunter’s producers is having some big party. He’s going with his band, you should come with me!” 

“That sounds like just what I need,” Jemma says happily. “What’s the dress code? Text me what you’re wearing. I should probably take a nap.” 

“Yeah, you don’t wanna be hungover before we even go out,” Bobbi laughs. “I’ll come by at like, nine. We can get ready together and then call a car.” 

When they hang up, Jemma sprawls out on her couch, flicking on the TV. The first thing that comes on is a rerun of Skye’s sitcom and Jemma can’t help but scowl at it, but she’s sucked in regardless. 

There’s no denying it. Skye is great on screen, and she carries the show. She’s charming and funny, her timing impeccable and her chemistry with all of her co-stars comes off completely natural. The premise is a quirky girl moving in to a loft with three sloppy men in their twenties. It explores the typical young sitcom tropes, romantic misadventures and career pitfalls, but it has a considerable amount of heart. It surprises her that it’s not doing very well in the ratings. 

She watches nearly an entire episode before she has to turn it off. She can’t really hold it against Skye, but ever since she entered Fitz’s life everything has been turned upside down. Ultimately she knows that it’s Fitz’s fault, but it’s easier to blame Skye. Skye isn’t her best friend and her partner and her other half. She’s just some girl who wrecked all of that. 

(Even Jemma can’t believe her own lie). 

She flips through channels until she finds The Breakfast Club playing on cable. Widget hops up beside her and before she knows it, she’s drifted off into the kind of sleep you can only get after day drinking. 

*** 

Her room is an absolute disaster, expensive dresses, tops, and skirts tossed all over every surface. Bobbi kicks back on the bed, drink in hand, and provides ratings for each thing Jemma tries. 

When she slips on a red fitted dress, made of lace with thin straps, Bobbi catcalls loudly. 

“That one! Wear that one!” 

Jemma fiddles with the neckline self-consciously. “It’s a bit scandalous, don’t you think?” 

“Yes, I do think,” Bobbi smirks. “Which is why you should wear it. It’s been ages since you went on a date. When was the last time you actually got down with a dude?” 

Jemma’s nose crinkles. “Really? Got down with a dude?” 

Bobbi rolls her eyes. “C’mon, Jemma.” 

“A few flings since Will, but nothing to write home about,” Jemma responds, grabbing her drink off of her dresser and taking a long sip. “I guess it really has been a while.” 

“Will was over a year ago. And once you two broke up, you were so focused on fixing your relationship with Fitz that you forgot to try to get some happiness for yourself.” 

“I didn’t need it,” Jemma says candidly, letting the whisky loosen her. “I was so happy when Fitz and I came back together. All of the time and energy was worth it and it was what I wanted to be doing.” 

“Have you two spoken yet?” 

Jemma shakes her head sadly. “Complete radio silence from him, I’m afraid.” 

“So why don’t you try to call him?” 

“We have a system,” she explains patiently, rather like she’s speaking to a child. “If it’s my fault, then I go to him right away. When he messes up, he gives me two days to calm down and then he comes to me.” 

Bobbi gives her an exasperated look. “Okay, but it’s been five days now and he hasn’t said anything. So either you need to woman up and say something to him, or you need to put yourself out there and remember that it’s not healthy to let Fitz be your only source of happiness.” 

Jemma gulps down a panicked breath. “Melinda said something similar in the car. That if we’re ever going to have happy romantic relationships, he and I will need to grow apart.” 

Bobbi snorts, sliding off of the bed and grabbing the curling iron from Jemma’s hand so that she can curl the stray pieces in the back. “Fitz was like, ninety percent of the problem with you and Will.” 

“Will’s lies were ninety percent of the problem,” Jemma corrects, grudgingly adding to her statement. “But yes, Fitz was the other ten percent.” 

“Don’t get me wrong, the two of you have something really great. But unless you really think you’d be happy with just Fitz for the rest of your life—“ 

Jemma cuts her off. “I would. If we could just…if we could learn to actually talk to each other.” 

“Do you think that’s what he would want?” Bobbi asks carefully, focusing her eyes on Jemma’s in the mirror. 

“What do you mean?” 

“You’re saying you’d be fine with just having this partnership for the rest of your life. No husband, no family. Just Fitz. Do you think he’d feel the same?” 

She thinks of all the photos swimming around of Skye on his arm. Her mind flashes to all the other times similar things have happened, and most painfully of the time that he’d dated a pop star when they were twenty and naïve and he’d left her completely in the dust for weeks. 

“Maybe not,” Jemma murmurs. “He told me how he felt and I left and I think that’s just it now.” 

“Jemma,” Bobbi says firmly, putting the curling wand down to spin her friend around by the shoulders. She looks her steadily in the eyes. “You walked in to his apartment and saw your worst nightmare sprawled out on the ground. You both thought he was going to die. You were so focused on getting him better after that and he was so angry, there was no way for you to even begin considering how you felt.” 

Jemma nods, blinking the tears out of her eyes. “Enough of this. We should leave if we want to get there before Hunter is hiding in the bathroom.” 

Bobbi laughs, hugging her quickly. “Alright, let’s do this.” 

She calls for a car and they make their way downstairs to wait for it. Bobbi’s eyes wander to the photos on Jemma’s wall. They’re almost entirely of Jemma and Fitz, and several of them are just of the prickly actor by himself. Fitz is notorious for hating having his picture taken, but each candid framed in Jemma’s home is a testament to his comfort with his best friend. 

One in particular strikes her, a photo of them at seventeen in their on-set chairs, making goofy faces in an age before selfies. They look so young, fresh faced and cherub-cheeked. 

Jemma returns from the kitchen with two shots in hand. Bobbi’s fingers curl around one and she clinks her glass carefully wih Jemma’s. 

“To change,” Bobbi says. She means for it to come off teasing, or fun, or anything other than the suffocating way that it ends up sounding. 

Jemma smiles sadly. “To change.” 

They knock back their shots just as the driver arrives at the door. Linking arms, they make their way to the driveway. As Jemma locks her door, she closes her eyes and breathes in slowly through her nose.

She can do this. She can be Jemma Simmons, without Leo Fitz. 

*** 

The party is already in full swing when they arrive. Hunter and his drummer, a man whose name might be Idaho, are loudly talking over one another in an attempt to tell the “correct” version of a story from their last tour. Bobbi interrupts him with a quick kiss which he grins into before she grabs Jemma’s hand to go to one of the bars to get a drink. 

“Look at him,” Bobbi says, nodding toward a tall, somewhat scrawny blonde man. Stubble graces his cheeks and he leans against the wall with a glass of water in hand, the picture of nonchalance. 

“That’s Lincoln Campbell,” Jemma tells her. “He just did an indie film that turned out to be real Oscar bait. Rumor has it he’s going to be Fitz’s biggest competition this season.” 

“Well he’s very cute,” Bobbi says suggestively. “And maybe he could be Fitz’s competition in more ways than one.” 

Jemma can’t resist the roll of her eyes, but she also can’t suppress the little smile on her lips. “Mmm, maybe.” 

She meets Lincoln’s eyes and gives him a friendly smile. Bobbi groans audibly and leans her forehead onto her hand. She waits until the bartender has dropped their drinks before she turns to Jemma. 

“That’s your mentor smile. You’re giving him your “let me be your big sister” smile. That is not a come-hither smile, Jemma Simmons.” 

“He’s very talented!” Jemma argues. “Besides, he looks uncomfortable.” 

Bobbi scoffs. “He does not.” 

Jemma changes the subject, grabbing Bobbi’s wrist in one hand and her drink the other. “Come on, then, let’s go to your boy.” 

Bobbi’s smile widens at that and she follows enthusiastically. Bobbi’s enthusiasm for her new relationship brings Jemma a huge amount of pride. The closed-off supermodel she’d become friends with years before would never have been so open to this kind of affection. They’ve grown a lot since then, all of them. She and Fitz had been the awkward child prodigies, but now they command social situations with relative ease, negotiate for themselves in the majority of their meetings, and manage to maintain relatively sterling public personas. 

She stops herself before her thoughts can escalate further. Reminiscing on her life means thinking of all of her times with Fitz. He’s such an integral part of her that there’s no way to separate out all of those memories. 

When they reach Hunter and his bandmates, introductions are made. She learns that his bassist is named Mike, and his backup guitar is an older woman named Izzy who is an absolute riot once you get her going. Jemma gets rather flustered talking to Mike at one point. She’s not sure if it’s the whisky in her system or the fact that he’s incredibly well-formed and symmetrical. No matter the reason, she’s finally having fun for the first time in days. When she lingers on the idea, she realizes that it’s the most fun she’s had since Fitz met Skye. 

“My son Ace loves that one movie you did,” Mike tells her. They’re sitting on a circular couch with Hunter, Bobbi, and the band, her legs crossed toward him. “The one where you’re a quirky science genius and you and your partner end up being able to read each other’s minds.” 

Jemma beams. “Linked! That was one of the only comedies I’ve done. It was a blast. How old is your son?” 

“Little,” Mike replies. “He’ll be six coming up here soon. My sister helps me look after him so that I can keep doing this.” 

Jemma melts a little bit when he shows her his phone background. It’s a selfie of him and an adorable little boy at a park. “Oh, he’s just gorgeous.” 

“Thanks,” Mike grins. “We’re partners.” 

Jemma opens her mouth to respond, but then she spots a figure over her shoulder that stops her heart. He looks the same as ever, rugged and handsome. He’s chatting with Lincoln Campbell, who looks less than pleased to be in conversation with Will Daniels. 

“Something wrong?” Mike asks, brow furrowed in concern. 

“No!” Jemma says too quickly. “Not at all. I’ll be right back, I’m going to grab another drink.” 

She feels Bobbi’s eyes on her, so when someone slides into step beside her, she expects it to be her friend. Instead, it’s Hunter who accompanies her to the bar. 

“You alright?” he asks. “Y’look like you’ve seen a ghost.” 

“Something like that,” she mutters bitterly, wiggling her fingers to grab the bartender’s attention. 

Hunter raises his eyebrows, scanning the room quickly. His eyes settle on Will and he makes a noise of understanding. “Ah. I see. I always say the best way to avoid awkward social interactions is to get pissed.” 

This pulls a laugh from her and he winks as he orders her a stiff drink and double shots for both of them. They clink their glasses together, much as she’d done with Bobbi in her kitchen. 

“Cheers, mate,” he smirks before downing it. It takes her nearly two entire gulps to get down the copious amount of alcohol and it burns all the way down into her stomach lining. Her eyes begin to water and he claps her on the back. They grab their other drinks off of the bartop and start their walk back to their group. 

Neither of them notices the man sitting near by, camera phone trained on them. 

They nearly make it back to the couches without any kind of run-in with Will, but Jemma has never been particularly lucky in that regard. He lightly touches her back and she turns toward him with a small falter in her tipsy steps. 

“Jemma, hi,” he greets. His eyes drink her in. “It’s been a while.” 

She bites back a scathing remark. Sure, she can be sassy and sharp, but she’s also known for her unwavering class, and she’s not about to lose that now. Not because of him. Hunter stands tensely at her side, eyes locked on the other man as he waits for Jemma’s reaction.

“Will, how nice to see you.” 

He looks around worriedly for a moment. “Where’s Fitz?” 

Despite the issues between her and Fitz, she can’t help but bite back a grin at his obvious fear of her best friend. “I’m out with Bobbi tonight.” 

He looks concerned at that, too. Jemma’s friends had not been kind to him when the truth had come out. “Oh right, I hear he’s seeing Skye Johnson now.” 

Jemma smiles tightly at him. “Something like that. Well, it was good to see you. I’ve got to get back to my group. Tell Gideon I say hello, would you?” 

She says it with the perfect amount of ice underlying the innocence in the words and he physically recoils. With a shiny and smug smile, she turns on her heel and Hunter follows her. 

“Jemma Simmons,” he praises, “you are a stone cold bitch. I love it.” 

She throws her head back in a laugh. “Your liquid courage certainly helped.” 

“Can I just say what we’re both thinking?” Hunter continues. “He’s got a hog face.” 

Jemma smiles ever so slightly. “He does. He does have a hog face.” 

From there, the night gets away from her. They take some more shots and eventually make their way outside to the large backyard. Izzy tosses Idaho into the pool and several other partygoers, including a chart-topping pop-star, an award-winning director, and a former co-star of hers from Hydra, all leap in after him. 

It seems that it’s all it takes for the party to escalate from relatively classy to a booze-fueled Hollywood equivalent to a frat party. She finds herself dancing on the outdoor bar, heels kicked off somewhere near the Jacuzzi. Bobbi dances beside her. They’re both vaguely sweaty, makeup running slightly underneath their eyes. Jemma’s meticulous curls have devolved into a sloppy mass of waves and Bobbi’s straight mane curls up at the ends from the heat of her movements. 

She’s happy, truly and honestly happy, if not a bit belligerent. Giggling, she accepts Mike’s help off of the bar and wanders, barefoot, into the mansion in search of a restroom. She pulls her phone out from her small clutch checks it, a small part of her hoping to find a text or call from Fitz. 

It’s nearly two in the morning, and she stares at herself in the mirror once she shuts the door. She’s flushed and glassy eyed, drunk and tired. She stares down at her phone once more and makes a choice, scrolling slightly in her recent calls until she finds Fitz’s name. The fact that he’s not the first one on the list for the first time in over a year bites at her, but she presses down anyway. 

It rings and rings, eventually going to his voicemail. She sighs, blinking back tears before she recalls once more that it’s extremely late. Perhaps he’s asleep. It takes him nearly ten minutes for his own alarm to wake him. 

So she calls again. And again. And again. 

On her seventh try, she’s truly upset and decides to tell him so. 

“You broke the rules, Fitz,” she slurs. “You’re meant to talk to me on day two, remember? But you didn’t and I miss you and I want to get our project back. Victoria Hand said I could still do it with another leading man but I don’t want to do it without you. Please call me so we can fix this. Together.” 

She hangs up, dabs at her face with a towel, and shoves her phone back into her clutch. Then she leaves the bathroom in search of another stiff drink.


	4. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Jemma wakes up, there's good news and there's bad news: 
> 
> The good news? She and Fitz are going to have a chance to talk. 
> 
> The bad news? TMZ knows more about her night than she does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys, the first part of this chapter is a big TRIGGER WARNING for attempted suicide/overdose. If you still want to read the chapter, just scroll down until the text is no longer italics.

_A phone is ringing. She’s in her trailer on set, pacing back and forth. When she sees Fitz’s name on the screen, she immediately picks up._

_“Fitz, where the hell are you? You know this is your last chance.”_

_“Jemma,” he slurs. “Jemma I made a mistake.”_

_Her heart stops. “Fitz. Leo. What did you do?”_

_“I took—I took a lot of pills. I just wanted it to stop. I just—I don’t know how to live without her and I just wanted to sleep long enough to figure it out but I don’t wanna die, Jemma, please—“_

_She’s wearing clothing that doesn’t belong to her but she doesn’t care. She grabs her purse, the pounding in her heart drowning out the desperate clack of her heels as she sprints to her car._

_“Stay on the phone with me, okay? What did you take?”_

_“Those pain pills from my surgery,” he manages to get out. “I’m so tired, Jemma.”_

_“I know you are. But I need you to stay awake for me, okay? Can you do that for me?”_

_She hears the director shouting at her as she slams her car door shut. She ignores it and peels out of the set parking lot, knocking several cones out of the way in the process. The filming location is close to his apartment._

_“I’ll do my best. I’m so sorry.”_

_“Hey, it’s okay. We’re going to fix this. You’re going to be just fine.”_

_“I’m scared.”_

_“Me too. But I’ll be there soon and we’ll both be just fine.”_

_She runs several red lights and stops her car in the middle of the street when she pulls up to his building. Clicking on her hazard lights, she tells Fitz that she’s coming in and uses his spare key to get in._

_He’s lying on the floor in a pair of dirty jeans and a t-shirt. His skin is clammy and his eyes are unfocused as he struggles to look at her._

_“Jemma,” he moans. “I can’t—I can’t stay awake.”_

_With shaking hands, she dials 911. He protests weakly but she ignores him, dropping to her knees beside him as she tells the operator the address and what happened. When he hangs up, she pulls his head into her lap. Her fingers dance through his hair and tears fall from her cheeks onto his face._

_“Don’t cry,” he says. “Shh, don’t cry, Jemma. I’m so sorry.”_

_“You need to stay with me, Leo,” she sobs. “Okay? Stay awake. Help is coming.”_

_“I just want to sleep for a long, long time,” he attempts to explain. “Until the pain goes away.”_

_“I know you do but you have to stay here with me. You’re my best friend in the world,” Jemma cries._

_  
“Yeah, well you’re more than that Jemma,” he slurs, tears spilling from his own eyes. She wipes them away with shaking fingers. “I didn’t have the courage to tell you.”_

_His eyes fall shut and she screams, shaking him. “Fitz, no! Fitz, wake up! Leo you need to stay with me. Stay with me, please!”_

_His eyelids flutter and struggle to open, but they don’t succeed. She sobs, covering his face in a smattering of kisses. The door to his apartment swings open and a team of paramedics rushes in. They push her out of the way and she can’t see him through the crowd of EMTs._

_“He’s unconscious,” one barks. “Pulse is weak.”_

_“Get defib ready,” another paramedic replies._

_“His heart stopped!” the first one shouts._

_The entire world crumbles. His shirt is cut off of him, a paramedic yells clear, and they shock his chest. With everyone standing further back, she sees his body jerk upward with the force._

_“NO!” she screams._

 

Jemma wakes up with a small shout, hands clutching at her chest. The dreams of the worst day of her life have become less frequent in recent months, but they seem to come more often when she’s drunk.

 

She wipes her hands over her clean, makeup-less face. She’s in her favorite pair of pajamas, tucked neatly into bed with several empty bottles of water next to her bed. Sitting up slowly to prevent her aching head from spinning, she spots her red dress discarded amongst the pile of clothes strewn across her floor from getting ready the night before.

 

After calling Fitz, she doesn’t remember much. Groaning at the thought, she sinks back into her pillows and thanks the gods that she’d installed a doggy door when she’d brought Widget home. The very thought of getting up to take her outside rolls Jemma’s stomach.

 

Not one to usually black out drunk, she’s surprised to even be conscious at nine in the morning. Given the circumstances, she doesn’t even feel that terrible. Her skin smells of whiskey and her hair carries the distinct scent of cigarette smoke, but she’s surprisingly put together for the state she’d been in at the party. Grasping for her phone, she shoots Bobbi a text.

 

_[Jemma]: Hope you’re alive. How the hell did we get home last night?_

 

After sending the text, she shuts her eyes for several long minutes. The effort of looking at the letters on her screen and pushing the right ones is too much for her sluggish mind and weary eyes. Her phone buzzes and she slowly opens her eyes once again to read Bobbi’s response.

 

_[Bobbi]: Shockingly I’m alive. You might wanna check TMZ though…_

 

A detached numbness washes over her. Bobbi would only tell her to check that insidious website if something really serious was posted, and she decides that her phone screen is too small for whatever bomb is about to be dropped. She drags her laptop from one side of her bed toward herself, slowly typing in the URL from her horizontal position in bed. Unsurprisingly, she is the first story on the page.

 

What is surprising is that Fitz is in the photos.

 

**FITZ VS. DANIELS…AGAIN**

 

_America’s English Rose, Jemma Simmons, 25, caused a stir last night at a Hollywood party. She arrived with model Bobbi Morse, 27, and was spotted flirting with a member of Lance Hunter and the Arrows._

_Shortly after, the bombshell was photographed taking shots with Lance Hunter, 27, himself. The two seemed very cozy until they bumped into Simmons’ ex, Will Daniels, 33. Daniels and Simmons had a bitter breakup over a year ago, and have not been spotted in public together since their split. Their exchange appeared to be tense—an insider snapped these photos showing Simmons and Daniels in a standoff. Hunter stayed close during the entire exchange—perhaps he was defending her honor?_

_Later on, a partygoer snapped these pics of Simmons and Morse dancing on the bar. We don’t know what’s weirder—Jemma Simmons partying out on the town, or the fact that Leo Fitz, 25, was nowhere to be found. The two are pretty much inseparable, but lately it’s been hard to catch them in the same room._

_That’s where the night got interesting, though. Fitz showed up near the night’s closing and appeared to have an earnest conversation with Simmons. Daniels interrupted, and Hollywood’s grumpy Scot didn’t take kindly to that. Take a look at the photos and decide for yourself—is this another Fitz and Daniels battle over Jemma Simmons?_

_Whatever the outcome, Simmons was spotted leaving the party with Fitz, leaving us all with the question we’ve been asking for years—are these two really just partners on screen or is romance brewing behind closed doors?_

 

The photos are damning. Pictures of her and Hunter taking shots look strangely intimate from the angle, but Jemma remembers that they’d been speaking about Will and she’d wanted to stay quiet about it. Bobbi hadn’t seemed angry in her text, so Jemma assumes that her friend knows that there was nothing romantic going on. Her eyes fall to the pictures of her and Bobbi on the bar—at least they look like they’re having a very good time.

 

Her breath catches when she sees the low-quality snaps of what is undoubtedly Fitz, holding onto her shoulders and looking seriously into her face. She looks like she’s crying, and the following photo shows him holding her closely. The one after that is Will, hand on Fitz’s shoulder, and then another of Fitz with fists clenched standing very close to the other man.

 

The last one is Fitz putting her in his car. He appears to be buckling her seatbelt for her and her cheeks heat in embarrassment. She snaps the computer shut and presses the heels of her palms into her eyes, taking several deep breaths. She freezes when she hears footsteps on her stairs.

 

Fitz obviously brought her home last night. There’s no way that it’s some random guy from the party, and it’s apparently not Bobbi. That leaves only one other person who could be in her house.

 

Fitz swings open the door, looking tired in the shirt he was wearing in the photos. He holds up a mug of tea in offering and she pushes herself up onto her pillows.

 

“Morning, sunshine,” he says, voice hushed to keep from agitating her headache. “How are you feeling?”

 

Jemma tries to swallow before speaking but her mouth is too dry, so she grabs for one of the water bottles that still has another sip and drinks it down before speaking. “A bit like I got hit by a train, but it could be worse. Considering.”

 

He nods in sympathy, putting the mug down on her nightstand. “That’s some peppermint black tea. Caffeine for the headache, peppermint for your stomach.”

 

It might be due to her hangover, or just from the desperate way she’s missed him, but she tears up as he sits near her feet, holding himself up with an arm on the other side of her legs.

 

“My favorite hangover tea,” she manages to say. He shrugs, eyes drifting to her quilt. He clears his throat and looks back up at her.

 

“How much do you remember from last night?”

 

She shuts her eyes with a small groan. “The last thing I really remember is going to the bathroom and calling you. A lot. And then leaving you that voicemail.”

 

“I was sleeping,” he explains. “I woke up cause my phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. You musta been leaving the voicemail while I was trying to call you back. I called Bobbi instead and she told me where you were.”

 

“Thanks for getting me home,” Jemma mumbles. “And for taking care of me.”

 

“You’ve done it enough times for me,” he waves her off. “Have you seen—“

 

“TMZ? Yeah. What happened with Will?”

 

Fitz’s jaw tightens at the mention of his name and his hand clenches around her blanket. For some reason it causes her stomach to flutter pleasantly.

 

“You and I were talking, and you were really upset. I was trying to calm you down and he came over and told me to let him handle it since I was the one who upset you to begin with. Made a comment about Skye and just—really pissed me off.”

 

The fluttering immediately stops. “Ah, right. Can’t have Skye’s name dragged through the mud.”

 

He flinches. “That’s not—I was mad before that. He has no right to even be near you, let alone try to comfort you. He was offering to take you home, as if he—as if he was going to try to—you know.”

 

Jemma rolls her eyes. “There’s not enough alcohol in the world for me to backslide like that, Fitz.”

 

“I know,” he agrees. “I just don’t like the idea of him thinking that he could. He lied to you. He pretended to be a completely different person and he used you. You’re worth a thousand of him and even looking at his face just makes me sick.”

 

She goes quiet, staring down into her tea just to have somewhere to look. Will Daniels will always be a point of tension between them and she doesn’t want to talk about it. They’re both avoiding the gigantic elephant in the room and she might still be a little bit drunk because her tongue suddenly feels loose enough to say something about it.

 

“Why haven’t you tried to call?” Jemma blurts out. He sucks in a sharp breath through his nose as if the question hits him square in the chest.

 

“I didn’t know what to say,” he murmurs, voice husky. The fluttering returns. “I messed up so badly. When you said we were done, I assumed you meant—I thought you meant that you were done with me. For good this time.”

 

His eyes raise to the ceiling to prevent tears from dropping and she places her mug on the bedside table so that she can reach for him.

 

“Fitz, you had to know that’s not what I meant,” she sighs, exasperated. “Eight years. Eight years of the two of us taking on everything together. I was furious at you but I didn’t mean that I didn’t want to be in your life anymore.”

 

He grabs at her hand, squeezing it tightly and shutting his eyes. “I know I’ve been—I haven’t been a very good friend lately. And I promise, I’m going to do better. I’ll do whatever it takes to get our project back on track.”

 

She’s still angry, there’s no denying it. But Fitz has never been very good at apologies and she knows that if she ever thought he wanted nothing to do with her anymore, she probably would have been too devastated to convince him otherwise. In typical FitzSimmons fashion, their fight had clarified some things but lead to another massive misunderstanding.

 

“Can you do something for me?” she asks after a long moment.

 

“Anything,” he replies immediately.

 

“Can you run to the store and get me some coconut water and also order some Chinese food?”

 

His nose crinkles. “Jemma, it’s the morning.”

 

“You know Chinese is my hangover cure!” she protests. “Please?”

 

Sighing but smiling, he pats her leg and stands. “Fine. I’ll be back in an hour-ish. You might want to take a shower, I’m pretty sure you’re sweating straight whiskey.”

 

“I smell lovely, thank you very much,” she says primly. He laughs and then hovers in the doorway.

 

“Harry Potter when I get back?” he asks hesitantly.

 

She beams. “Absolutely.”

 

She’d expected him to bring her the coconut water and food and then leave, but his suggestion warms her. The first time they’d ever gotten drunk, they were eighteen and had just won their first Oscars. Turns out that Hollywood after-parties don’t ask for ID, and they’d drank nearly three bottles of champagne between the two of them. They woke up on the floor of Fitz’s hotel room in their respective fancy dress clothes, and had ordered a massive amount of room service throughout the day.

 

Nibbling on hash browns and sipping on tea, they laid in his bed and watched Harry Potter movies all day before moving on to the Jurassic Park trilogy.

 

Fitz grins at her, slapping his hand against the doorframe. “Great. We won’t even have to switch to a different franchise, now that the last three movies came out.”

 

She grins back and shoos him out of the door, taking his advice and getting up to take a shower. He’s right, she does smell like she’s leaking alcohol and her hair still smells like Izzy’s cigarettes. When she comes out, she feels refreshed and revitalized, and most of the feeling can be attributed to the fight between her and Fitz having finally been resolved.

 

She checks her phone when it buzzes and finds a message from Bobbi.

 

_[Bobbi]: Are you ok?_

_[Jemma]: Yeah, much better. Fitz came by and we talked. I’ll tell you about it later. I’m still fairly hungover but not too bad. How’re you feeling?_

_[Bobbi]: Like garbage. Hunter and I will not be leaving bed today._

_[Jemma]: Didn’t expect Hunter to have that kind of stamina ;)_

_[Bobbi]: You bet your pasty ass he does. See you at Trip’s premiere tomorrow?_

_[Jemma]: Yeah, see you there! Hope you both feel better._

 

She brushes out her wet hair and slips into an old pair of Fitz’s pajama pants and a tank top before double checking that she has the entire Harry Potter series on her Apple TV. Widget comes bounding into the room to hop on the bed and Jemma amuses herself by scrolling through her various social media feeds.

 

Deciding to make the best of a rough situation, she posts a selfie of herself and Bobbi from the party last night, taken just after they’d come off of the bar. They’re both obviously inebriated and rather sweaty, making goofy faces. She posts it to Instagram with the caption “About last night: sometimes good girls gotta go bad.”

 

Her twitter feed is full of mentions from fans of both her and Fitz, many of them rants against Will Daniels that make her grin. There’s a few from Will’s fans, nonsense about how she never deserved him, but she just ignores those.

 

When Fitz comes back, his arms are full of bags. “Alright, we’ve got coconut water, crisps, chocolate, some popcorn, Chinese food, and those weird disgusting seaweed things you love so much.”

 

He walks into her closet and pulls out a pair of his sweatpants that stay at Jemma’s in case of late nights. He sniffs at his shirt and tugs it over his head, leaving him in just his tank top. Jemma rips her gaze from his arms when he catches her looking.

 

Widget wriggles excitedly on the quilt as soon as she smells the food and Fitz sneaks her a bite of eggroll while Jemma isn’t looking. They start the first movie, munching on their food in silence and only pausing so that Fitz can put the leftovers in the fridge. They keep the rest of the snacks in reachable distance, wanting no reason to leave the room.

 

Halfway through the second installment, Jemma scoots as close to Fitz as she can and lays her damp head on his shoulder. He shivers and complains, but makes no move to escape her. Insteead, he wraps an arm around her and rests his cheek on her hair with a contented sigh.

 

“I’ve missed this,” he admits quietly as Harry Potter spits a Golden Snitch out of his mouth. Jemma gives him a little squeeze.

 

“Me too. Let’s not fight ever again.”

 

Fitz laughs and she feels it vibrate through his ribcage. The fluttering returns and she glances up at him. Looking into his eyes does nothing to quell the strangely visceral reaction that she’s having.

 

“Between my temper and your stubbornness, I’m pretty sure we stand no chance of never fighting,” he smirks. “But how about we just stick to the system, no matter what.”

 

“Yes, stick to the system.”

 

He pulls her a bit tighter and the day ticks by slowly and sleepily. She drifts in and out of dozing beside him, occasionally rummaging through the snacks and sipping on coconut water.

 

By the time Voldemort comes back to life in the Tri-Wizard Tournament, Fitz is heavy and warm with sleep. She tears her eyes from the screen and watches him for a while, tentatively bringing her fingertips to his stubble.

 

She hadn’t noticed before, but dark, puffy circles haunt the bottom of his eyes. His scruff is longer than he usually keeps it and his skin looks vaguely sallow. For a moment she wonders if he’s ill, but then she thinks of the way she’d been looking lately, too.

 

Jemma unravels without Fitz, and he unravels without her. It’s been proven time and time again, from their lengthy separation to all the little fights in between.

 

Part of what defines their friendship is their lack of boundaries. Their first film had been a dark drama about two teens in bad circumstances, manufacturing drugs in a backyard shed to make money. It had involved gritty scenes and one very passionate make-out session that had been both of their first kiss. Many of their films involved intimate scenes, and they’d even done two sex scenes together.

 

Tabloids and fans loved to interpret their interactions because they were always so touchy feely with one another. They held hands on red carpets, brushed fingers on shoulders, kissed cheeks and foreheads in grocery store aisles. Snuggling together was nothing new, but every now and then his breath would fall on her neck in a way that sent pleasant shivers down her spine, or he’d draw little circles on her lower back and a tingling warmth would fall over her entire body.

 

She tells herself that this is what happens when you’re close with someone in every sense of the word. She tells herself that this does not mean that they’re in love, because if it does, that means she’s wasted so much time. That means everyone would have been right, all these years, and she was wrong.

 

Shortly after Fitz’s incident, Bobbi had asked Jemma if she loved him, and her immediate answer had been an unequivocal yes. Jemma has loved him every minute of every day for eight entire years. She’s loved him through his worst low and his highest highs. And he’s loved her right back, every step of the way.

 

But there are a million different kinds of love and she’s never been able to quantify or qualify what kind it is that they have.

 

Her headache returns forcibly and she sinks down further into Fitz’s chest. He unconsciously tightens his arms around her and she lets her eyes flutter shut at the sensation. This is how she’s always felt safest, and that safety lulls her to sleep.

 

***

 

They wake up in the evening, and Fitz’s stomach immediately growls. She giggles and they crawl out of bed to head downstairs and make something, but she finds her fridge to be largely empty.

 

“All you have is beer and siracha?” Fitz asks, staring into its emptiness. “C’mon, Simmons, you’re better than this.”

 

She rolls her eyes and hip bumps him out of the way to take a look herself. “Oh. Well, maybe just pizza then?”

 

“Now you’re speaking my language.”

 

They order their usual from the place down the street. The delivery people are discreet and respectful of their privacy. One of the only times that Fitz throws around his celebrity is when he’s ordering pizza, and she can’t help but laugh as she listens to him amp up his accent and repeat his name three separate times. When he hangs up, he looks decidedly pleased with himself.

 

“Alright, should be here in twenty. We didn’t even make it through Number Five, wanna finish out the marathon?”

 

“Obviously,” she grins. He beams back at her and takes off toward the stairs.

 

“I’m gonna get the good pillow!”

 

“No!” Jemma shouts, dashing after him. “This is my house!”

 

“I picked it out!”

 

When she catches up to him, he’s laying on her bed with his hands behind his head, lounging on her best pillow. She bounces onto it and whacks him with one of her inferior pillows.

 

“You’re a jerk.”

 

He just grins smugly at her and snatches the Apple TV remote. “Alright, we’ve gotta start over from right before the Third Task. I totally passed out.”

 

She rolls her eyes but agrees.

 

“Oh hey, we have Trip’s premiere tomorrow. Are we going together?” Jemma asks. She’s a little embarrassed by how shy and nervous she sounds.

 

Fitz grimaces. “I had told Skye I would bring her.”

 

She doesn’t do a good job at hiding her disappointment. “Right. Of course.”

 

He stares at her guiltily for a long moment and she hates it, but then he shakes his head and grabs his phone. He sends a quick text and Jemma focuses her eyes on the screen to avoid reading what he’s typed. She doesn’t want to see how he’s telling Skye that she wanted to go with him.

 

He puts his phone down after he receives a response and pokes at her arm. “And now I’ve told her I’m going with you.”

 

Her head whips to him quickly, eyes bright and excited. “Really?”

 

“Yeah,” he smiles shyly. “Besides, we’re so much better at interviews when we do them together.”

 

She smiles back and crosses her ankle with his. His head falls to her shoulder and she absently runs her fingernails over the soft skin of his forearm, watching as his muscles relax beneath her.

 

Maybe the red carpet won’t be so bad tomorrow.


	5. Be Sure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobbi reveals more about Jemma's drunken antics over lunch before Jemma attends Trips' premiere with Fitz.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a week off of school in which I should be studying for finals but let's be honest, this is what I'm going to be doing instead.

Fitz had gone home early in the morning since he had an appointment with his personal trainer. That had inspired her to go to the little mini gym she’d put together in one of her spare bedrooms, so she’d gone for a 45 minute jog and done some yoga.

 

Making up with Fitz does amazing things for her mood and even her physical health. Maybe it’s just the hangover finally being fully melted away, but she feels rejuvenated and renewed, like all of the cells in her body have been rebuilt.

 

Jemma meets Bobbi for lunch to discuss the repercussions of their wild night. When she parks her car, she’s bombarded by more photographers than normal—she knows it’ll be this way until another actress dances on a table or falls out of a car at a club, so she grins and bears it.

 

When she enters the restaurant, Bobbi is already waiting for her at a table far away from the windows. The blonde smiles and stands to hug her.

 

“Hey. Make it through the vultures okay?”

 

Jemma laughs. “Yeah. I figured they were here for both of us.”

 

Bobbi rolls her eyes. “So fucking annoying. Whatever, we got drunk with my boyfriend and danced on a table.”

 

“And then Fitz rescued me,” Jemma sighs. “I’m still a bit embarrassed about that, but at least something good came of it.”

 

“Oh good, we can jump right in,” Bobbi says eagerly, sipping on her water. “What happened once he got you home?”

 

Jemma shakes her head. “Honestly? I’ve got no idea. I don’t remember anything after I called him. Apparently he got me cleaned up and in my pajamas though. We spent the day together and he apologized for his behavior. We’re going to the premiere together tonight.”

 

“That’s good,” Bobbi points out in a careful tone. “I figured he would be bringing Skye.”

 

“He cancelled on her for me,” Jemma replies, a bit smugly.

 

Bobbi bites her lip. “Did he tell you what happened when he showed up?”

 

Jemma’s forehead creases. “He told me that I was upset and he tried to calm me down and Will came up to us. But that’s it.”

 

Bobbi raises her eyebrows and takes a long sip of her drink, avoiding Jemma’s eyes.

 

“What?” Jemma demands. “Bobbi, what happened?”

 

Bobbi sighs. “When he showed up you were sitting on Mike’s lap, talking to him. Fitz kinda just like, froze when he saw you, but then you spotted him and jumped up. He said he shouldn’t have come and you started crying and begging him not to leave you.”

 

Jemma winces in embarrassment, putting her head in her hands. “Oh my God.”

 

Bobbi’s nose crinkles in sympathy. “Yeah, it got _real._ It was very obvious you weren’t just talking about him leaving the party. And then you brought up Skye—“

 

“I did what?!” Jemma shrieks, hands falling away from her face. Several other customers turn to stare at them and Bobbi shushes her.

 

“We’ve drawn enough attention to ourselves lately,” she says wryly. “But yeah, you started blubbering about how Skye was so much prettier than you and so charming on her TV show so you understood why he would choose Skye over you.”

 

Jemma’s stomach rolls. “I didn’t. There’s no way I did that.”

 

“I saw it,” Bobbi assures her. “But Fitz was really sweet about it, Jemma. And if he didn’t bring it up, it obviously didn’t upset him.”

 

“What did he do?” Jemma practically whispers.

 

“Well, that’s when Will walked up at first. A lot of people heard what you said, so Will came over and started saying how all Fitz was doing was upsetting you. I truly thought Fitz was going to hit him, he looked that pissed off.”

 

“The last thing anyone needs is Fitz punching Will again,” Jemma groans. “What happened after the Will thing?”

 

“Fitz lead you over to one of the arm chairs by where we were sitting and kneeled down in front of you so you would look at him, cause you were still crying quite a bit. Then he told you all this stuff about how you’re his best friend and you’re the most beautiful woman he knows and he could never replace you with anyone.”

 

Jemma feels a little choked up at the thought. Fitz never tells her things like that, and part of her wishes she remembered his little speech. On the other hand, the preceding events are things she probably wouldn’t want to know about.

 

“And then he took me home?”

 

Bobbi looks at her wearily, as though she’d debating whether or not she should say anything. “Well…he did. But you kind of maybe tried to kiss him?”

 

Jemma nearly does a spit take. She chokes on her sip of water and it takes her several moments to calm down.

 

“No, no. You must have seen that wrong. I didn’t do that.”

 

Bobbi raises her hands defensively. “I’m just telling you what I saw. You pulled him up toward you by his shirt collar and he turned his face and when you started crying again he said something about ‘not like this, Jemma’ and then he put his jacket on you and took you home.”

 

“Why didn’t he tell me that?” Jemma murmurs, staring at the tablecloth. They’re interrupted by their waitress, and they each order a few sushi rolls.

 

Bobbi turns back to the conversation. “I think he just probably didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. You were really, really drunk, Jems.”

 

“Do you think I should say something?” Jemma asks anxiously. “We’re just back in a good place again, and we’re going to start working to get our project back. I don’t want to ruin things by creating more drama between us.”

 

Bobbi grabs her hand to stop her ranting. “Do you want to kiss him?”

 

Jemma’s breath catches and she takes a long moment to think. “I…don’t know.”

 

“Then don’t bring it up,” Bobbi says firmly, removing her hand. “You’ve been confused ever since that stunt he pulled, and it’s gotten worse since Skye came around. It might just be a jealousy thing and if that’s the case, it really could ruin everything if you toy with his emotions.”

 

“I don’t toy with him!” Jemma exclaims indignantly. “Besides, I don’t think he feels that way about me anymore.”

 

Bobbi just shrugs. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

 

Jemma sighs, smiling gratefully at the waitress as she drops their first roll.

 

“How did the rest of your night go?” Jemma asks. “Sorry I keep talking about myself lately.”

 

Bobbi waves her off. “Don’t even worry about it. Hunter did an impromptu performance of a Britney Spears song with an acoustic guitar that was…surprisingly emotional for both of us.”

 

Jemma bursts into laughter. “He serenaded you, in public, with an acoustic cover of Britney Spears?”

 

“Remember You Drive Me Crazy?” Bobbi grimaces in an attempt to hide a grin. The smile breaks through anyway and Jemma giggles at how smitten her friend looks.

 

“You’re kidding me. Hipster King Lance Hunter sang Crazy by Britney Spears at a Hollywood party?”

 

Bobbi shakes her head, giggling. “He really did. And people ate that shit up, I’m telling you right now. Your little scene saved us from some embarrassing TMZ coverage so thanks for that.”

 

“Glad to be of service,” Jemma says wryly. “So things are going well between you two?”

 

“They really are,” Bobbi admits a bit nervously. “I’m not…good at this kind of thing. There’s a pretty steep learning curve.”

 

“Well if it makes you feel any better, the guy looks at you like you hung the moon,” Jemma assures her. “So I don’t think you have much to worry about.”

 

Bobbi bites back a smile and nods. “Fitz hasn’t really met him yet. We should all do something after the premiere tonight, or grab dinner before.”

 

Jemma grins excitedly even though her stomach flip flops when she hears Fitz’s name. Now that she knows she tried to kiss him, her thoughts about yesterday feel incredibly scrambled. She’d spent all day in bed with him, snuggling and dozing and had even had a fleeting thought of wondering if they’re in love.

 

And that was before she knew what she’d done.

 

“I’ll text him now,” Jemma grins.

 

_[Jemma]: Hey! Hope training wasn’t too awful today. Bobbi wants you to meet Hunter…are you free for dinner before the premiere or to grab a drink after?_

 

She puts her phone down on the table and she and Bobbi eat quietly for a while. Jemma’s phone buzzes violently against the table and she slides it open to read his response.

 

_[Fitz]: It was as bad as it always is haha. I’m doing an early dinner with Phil to go over some stuff, how bout drinks after?_

 

She frowns at her screen. Ordinarily all of their contract decisions are made together, at a meeting with both Melinda and Phil. Maybe Fitz has a big interview coming up or something.

 

“Everything okay?” Bobbi asks.

 

Jemma clears her throat and nods. “Yeah. Yeah, we can do drinks after the movie. He’s getting an early dinner with Phil to talk about some things. I just can’t imagine what they might be, we usually make our business decisions with Mel and Phil at the same time.”

 

“I can’t believe you get away with calling her Mel,” Bobbi scoffs.

 

“Not to her face,” Jemma admits with a laugh.

 

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Bobbi tells her. “He probably has some offers he needs to field or maybe he’s trying to figure out how to get back in with Victoria Hand.”

 

“You’re probably right. That reminds me, I need to let Melinda know that she should tell Victoria I wont’ do the film with anyone but Fitz.”

 

She types a quick text to her manager and then puts her phone back in her purse. “So do we even know what movie we’re seeing tonight?”

 

Bobbi opens her mouth to answer, closes it, and then looks very puzzled for a second. “Actually…I’ve got no idea.”

 

This leaves them both in hysterical giggles, and they finish their meal with a quick hug and a promise to meet up after the screening.

 

Jemma drives home and does her best to halt her thoughts from straying back to Fitz over and over again. Her mind keeps playing out what would have happened if she’d kissed him, or what he had thought about the entire event. Huffing in annoyance, she vows to read through a few screenplays that have been on her desk for a while and take Widget on a walk.

 

There will be no more dwelling on what happened that night. She and Fitz are back on good terms and that’s all that counts. It’s all that matters to her.

 

***

 

Jemma goes to a salon to get her hair blown out and then pinned up before Kara meets her at her house to do her makeup. She likes Kara a lot, but she’s not a huge fan of Kara’s stuntman boyfriend Grant. She’s not totally sure what Kara sees in him, but she supposes she doesn’t really know either of them well enough to judge.

 

When Kara leaves, she goes to her closet and looks through her dresses. She’s never worn most of them, and she finally settles on a strapless black number with an Aztec-esque design on it. Fitz texts her asking what she’ll be wearing so he can make sure not to clash too much, and she lets him know to go classic black and white.

 

He snapchats her twice, one with a tie and one without, and she advises him to lose the tie. Her phone rings just as she’s sent the text and she answers it with a smile.

 

“Hi, Fitz,” she sighs in mock exasperation. “Do you need me to tie your shoes for you?”

 

He chuckles and she can practically see him shaking his head at her. “That’s why my dress shoes are Velcro, Jemma. So I can do them myself. But seriously, I just wanted to let you know I’m heading out to pick you up, if you’re ready?”

 

“Yeah,” she smiles. “How are we getting there?”

 

“I got us a car,” he tells her. “I wanted to take the Porsche but if we’re going for drinks after…”

 

“Yes, best to not get arrested,” Jemma agrees. “Okay, I’m just about ready, so I’ll see you in a bit.”

 

“See you then.”

 

She hangs up and decides to have a glass of wine while she waits for him. Ever since Bobbi told her what she’d tried to do at the party, her thoughts keep drifting toward his mouth. She feels her fingers twitch as she imagines running her nails over the scruff of his cheek and she grits her teeth.

 

“Get it together,” she mumbles angrily to herself. Her heels clack against the marble floor of her kitchen and she screws open a bottle of wine, pouring a generous glass. A few long swigs later, she feels the warmth take over her limbs and she moves toward the living room to lounge on the couch. Her eyes drift toward the photo of she and Fitz on the set of Chemistry.

 

Had it really only been eight years? Sometimes it feels as though she’d known him since before she was born. Other times it feels like they’ve only just begun. She hears a key turn in the lock and downs the rest of her chardonnay, placing the glass on the coffee table and standing just as he walks in.

 

His eyes roam her body in a seemingly unconscious gesture before settling back on her face. He blinks and then smiles at her.

 

“You look great, Jemma. Ready?”

 

“Thanks, Fitz. You’re looking rather sharp yourself.”

 

She’s not just saying that, either. His red carpet choices tend to be questionable at best. They’d improved once Bobbi had begun to hang out with them and dispensing advice, but on more than one occasion Jemma was forced to grin and bear it while he wore strangely colored short sleeved button downs to nice events.

 

Tonight he’s wearing a simple white shirt, actually ironed, and a well-fitted black suit jacket with appropriately tailored trousers. He offers her his arm once she locks the front door and she gives him a surprised look as he opens the towncar door for her.

 

“What?” he asks. “I can’t open the door for you?”

 

“You can,” she retorts. “You just usually don’t.”

 

He immediately looks down at his feet, hand flying to the back of his neck. “Never too late to start,” he mumbles so quietly she nearly misses it. She opens her mouth to reply but he’s already shut the door, walking to get in on the other side.

 

“Mr. Fitz, I opened the champagne while you were inside.”

 

Jemma’s eyebrows couldn’t raise any higher if they tried. “Champagne?”

 

In the dim light of the car, she can see the tips of his ears turning red. “I have some good news for you. Thought it might be worthy of a toast.”

 

“Oooh,” she hums, sitting up in her seat excitedly while Fitz nervously pours two glasses. The driver waits until he’s finished to begin driving, and he rolls up the partition between the back seat and the cab of the car.

 

“So my meeting with Phil went well,” Fitz says, handing her a flute of champagne. She glances at the bottle and sees it’s her favorite kind. “He wasn’t able to get me another meeting with Victoria Hand.”

 

Jemma’s eager smile slides right off of her face. She doesn’t really understand why this is a cause for celebration.

 

“He got us in with Maria Hill instead,” Fitz blurts out. He’s beaming so brightly at her, eyes practically begging for her approval. And she delivers.

 

She nearly spills her champagne as she impulsively reaches out to throw her arms awkwardly around him in the backseat.

 

“Fitz! How on earth did he swing that?!”

 

“I’ve no idea,” he laughs. “But Hill is a way bigger get than Hand, isn’t she?”

 

Jemma nods excitedly. “Hill is the Vice President of SHIELD Pictures.”

 

He raises his glass toward her. “To fixing it. Together.”

 

She grins at him, clinking her glass against his. “You fixed it this time, Fitz.”

 

He takes a long drink and she does as well. When he puts his glass down he looks rather sad. “I’m the one who broke it, though.”

 

Her hand reaches out to his knee and she gives it a squeeze. “Oh, Fitz. SHIELD Pictures is even better than Hub Productions. You may have even saved the project entirely by not showing up to that meeting.”

 

His face crinkles in the way it does when he doesn’t believe her, but he looks at least somewhat comforted. “So tell me about this bloke of Bobbi’s. Am I going to like him?”

 

“He’s really great,” Jemma giggles. “He’s from our side of the pond. A bit camera shy, which is surprising given how outgoing he is. Bobbi is rather smitten.”

 

“You seemed a bit smitten as well,” Fitz teases, but there’s a hint of seriousness underneath his words. Jemma rolls her eyes.

 

“He got me drunk after I saw Will the first time.”

 

“Right,” Fitz nods, shifting his gaze out the window. “I meant the drummer.”

 

“Mike?” Jemma asks curiously. He immediately tenses at the name and her brow furrows. “Mike seems very nice. I only met him the one time, and I hardly remember that evening.”

 

He softens up at that, giving her a teasing little smirk. “So you don’t remember tackling me like a linebacker?”

 

Jemma huffs. “Since when do you reference American football?”

 

“Skye made me watch the 49ers games,” he replies easily. “It’s not so bad.”

 

Jemma scoffs. “Fitz, you _hate_ American football. You once said, and I quote, _this is just an even worse version of rugby. Bunch of ugly brutes beating each other for a piece of leather.”_

 

Her approximation of his accent is terrible, as it’s always been, and he rolls his eyes dramatically. “Well, things can change.”

 

He flinches at his own words and she sits back a little further away from him.

 

“You hate change,” she says softly, playing with the hem of her dress.

 

“I do,” he agrees. His hand darts out toward her and then quickly retracts.

 

“At least we still have each other,” she says firmly, grabbing his fingers before he can slip too far away. He looks up, eyes alight with a new hope.

 

“Always,” he confirms. “We should be celebrating.”

 

“We’re a little duo,” she grins impishly. “And now we’re going to write, direct, and star in our own film.”

 

“Not bad for a couple of seventeen year olds who were scared shitless at their first table read.”  


Jemma laughs loudly as she remembers that first day, how she’s caught him wretching into a bin outside of the main doors.

 

Any tension between them dissipates. Los Angeles traffic crawls by and they finish nearly the entire bottle of champagne on the way to the theater.

 

They forget to let go of each other’s hand.

 

***

 

It’s been a while since they did a red carpet interview together. Their latest film is still in post-production, with only a couple of trailers released. There hasn’t been anything to promote, so for most events, they just get their picture taken and move on.

 

But for some reason, the sight of them together again sends the journalists into a frenzy when they step out onto the red carpet. Jemma stumbles slightly into his arms, grasping at his elbows. He leans in close.

 

“The mints were a good idea,” he chuckles. “I’m a bit tipsy.”

 

“As am I,” she replies with a conspiratorial giggle. “Let’s hope we can pull this off.”

 

“We pull everything off,” he says confidently. “We’re FitzSimmons.”

 

She grins and takes his offered arm. “Nubile young prodigies.”

 

“Nubile?” he questions after a beat. “Really, Simmons?”

 

She smacks at his arm and is nearly blinded by the cameras flashing in the face of their moment. She has the strange urge to shout at them all to leave her and Fitz alone. She’s been enjoying their evening together so much that she wants it to remain this way, uninterrupted and peaceful. Jemma feels incredibly reluctant to share him, or their time together, with the public. After so many days without him, she wants to keep him to herself.

 

Fitz grumbles under his breath as a particularly enthusiastic young journalist calls out his name repeatedly. “Come on, then. Let’s give ‘em what they want.”

 

She shakes her head slightly with a pasted-on smile, letting Fitz lead her toward the man holding a microphone out toward them.

 

“I’m Donnie, with the Hollywood Reporter,” the young man says eagerly.

 

“Hi Donnie,” Fitz greets kindly. It’s his most charismatic voice and Jemma is surprised to see him turning it on so soon. He leans a bit heavily against her and she remembers that he’s a bit drunk.

 

“Your new movie comes out in just a few more months,” Donnie says, holding out his mic a bit further. “What can you tell us about it?”

 

There’s an awkward moment where Fitz doesn’t do anything, so Jemma looks at him with a smile. “Do you want to take this one or should I?”

 

He nods, which still doesn’t answer the question. She reaches a hand back around his shoulder and smiles at him in exasperation, leading him to grin back and do a little shake of his head.

 

“Y’know, I am really not helpful right now, am I?”

 

“He never is,” Jemma jokes toward the camera. Fitz rolls his eyes. “Well, it’s a wonderful story. We absolutely loved making it. It was really our first crack at something along the science fiction genre. It’s still more of a love story than anything else, but it still has a lot of elements of the genre and I’m really excited to see how it looks, with all the effects.”

 

Fitz finally jumps in as well. “Yeah, there were a lot of days of us just screaming for each other against a green screen. It’ll be interesting to see what the hell was keeping us so far apart.”

 

Donnie laughs. “You two have such great chemistry. Do you ever get sick of working together?”

 

Fitz raises his eyebrows, dropping his jaw a bit into a cheeky little smile as he bobs down to look at her expectantly. Laughter bubbles from her lips and she watches him for a long moment before turning back to their interviewer.

 

“Of course I get sick of him,” she laughs. “Spend more than five minutes with this silly man and you’ll see why.”

 

“And she’s not much better,” Fitz pipes up. “Always making me eat salad and nagging me to call my mum.”

 

“He doesn’t call his mum enough,” Jemma teases. Donnie looks absolutely delighted by the entire interview. As much as she loves their teasing, she can’t help but sober up a bit. “In all seriousness, I can’t imagine a better partner than Fitz. I can’t imagine what life would be like if we hadn’t done Chemistry together.”

 

She feels Fitz’s eyes burning into the side of her face and the small screen in front of them shows a muscle in his jaw twitch.

 

He snaps out of it and smiles shakily at Donnie. “I feel the same way. She’s my best friend in the world.”

 

She wonders if the words hit him the way they hit her. They’ve never discussed that day, not really, and she’s not even sure how much of it he remembers. She feels his hand rest on her lower back and the weight of his touch loosens her back up.

 

“Can you give us a hint as to what your next project might be?”

 

Jemma and Fitz share a secret little glance. “We have something in the works,” he teases.

 

Jemma nods. “It’s top-secret, unfortunately. As soon as we’re allowed to talk about it, we’ll be shouting it from the rooftops.”

 

“Especially this one,” he laughs, nudging her with an elbow. “She’s a chatty one.”

 

Jemma rolls her eyes fondly. They wrap up the interview with a few more little sound bites and then continue to make their way down the carpet. Jemma spots Skye not too far in front of them and she falters for a moment.

 

“Oh, right, she actually got an invite of her own,” Fitz tells her, nodding in Skye’s general direction.

 

“Should we go say hi?” Jemma asks. She’s sure she doesn’t sound particularly convincing.

 

Fitz doesn’t miss a beat. “Nah, let’s just try to get inside, shall we? Dunno about you, but that Champagne went straight to my head.”

 

She bites down on her smile and nods in agreement, letting him take her palm in his own. They walk down the rest of the way with as few photo ops as possible.

 

Jemma takes a great deal of pleasure when Skye’s eyes immediately drop to Fitz and Jemma’s linked hands when she spots them. She gives her a friendly smile and a wave, which both Fitz and Jemma return.

 

Jemma swears she sees Skye give Fitz a small thumbs up, but she’s sure she imagined it.

 

***

 

The movie is good. It’s a romantic comedy that she and Fitz had turned down in favor of doing their sci-fi romance, Maveth. They munch on popcorn and occasionally swap whispered commentary on the film. Hunter glances over at them a few times and adds his own from the corner of his mouth, and Jemma is certain that Fitz and Hunter will make fast friends.

 

Trip is wonderful and charming in it, and as soon as the lights come up, he’s surrounded by a large group of well-wishers and congratulators. Jemma makes a mental note to text him her praises later.

 

Fitz leads her out of the theater, Bobbi and Hunter following closely behind. In the lobby they stop to decide where to get drinks.

 

“I know a good place,” Hunter suggests. “Not really a big movie star type of place—it’s a bit divey but it’s a good time.”

 

Fitz and Jemma exchange a look and then nod in unison.

 

“Sounds great,” Jemma says.

 

“I could use a break from the usual.”

 

“Great!” Bobbi says. “It’s actually in the Valley. It’s called the King’s Head.”

 

“Sounds like a pub,” Jemma jokes.

 

“It is,” Hunter tells her. “Not quite as good as home, but close as it gets.”

 

They each get in their respective cars and Jemma looks at the bar appraisingly as they arrive. “This could actually be quite fun.”

 

“We’re a bit overdressed,” Fitz grumbles, looking down at himself.

 

Jemma sighs. “Ditch the jacket and roll up your sleeves, you’ll feel better that way.

 

He does as he’s told, nearly elbowing her in the face in the small space in the process. Fitz turns to her with a small questioning shrug and she nods her approval.

 

“Very nice. Shall I take down my hair?”

 

He nods and helps her untangle the seemingly endless amount of bobby pins holding her hair up.

 

“Ouch!” she hisses.

 

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologizes. “How do they even put these in anyway? There’s nothing for it to grab onto.”

 

He yanks on another one and she winces, gritting her teeth. When she’s extracted the last one, she shakes her hair out, turning to him to use as a live mirror.

 

“Do I look alright? It’s not all creased is it?”

 

His face is closer than she expected it to be. He’d had to slide all the way over into her seat to help her, and she can feel his breath on her lips. She watches his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, his eyes drifting toward her mouth.

 

She’s seen this look before, but only on set. Only when he’s in character, about to kiss her.

 

Even then, there’s something different about this time.

 

The driver suddenly lowers the partition. “Sorry, guys, but I’ve gotta move. I’m not allowed to park here.”

 

Fitz practically slams his body against the opposite door, scrambling away from her as if she’s burned him. Jemma’s hands come up to her cheeks, attempting to cool the burning skin.

 

“Shall we?” she asks quietly. He nods, fisting a hand in his hair and getting out quickly. His side is on the street and he nearly gets hit by a car. He jumps back, bumping into the towncar so hard that it shakes.

 

“Fitz!” Jemma shouts as she gets out on her side. “Oh my God!”

 

He sighs at her admonishing. “I’m fine, Jemma.”

 

“You could have gotten hit,” she fusses as he rounds the car. Her hands go to his shirt, flat palms against his chest. “Don’t scare me like that.”

 

She feels his relieved laugh vibrating against his ribs. He looks down toward her and she’s overcome with that same feeling from the car. He’s clean shaven today, so she wouldn’t have a chance to run her fingertips over the scruff that she likes on him, but if she just leans up a little bit more…

 

“Hey guys!” Bobbi calls from the doorway of the pub. “We snagged a table!”

 

They spring apart once again. Fitz looks properly disoriented, and she’s sure she looks the same. Bobbi, on the other hand, looks at though she knows exactly what she’d just interrupted. She holds the door open as Fitz walks through first, and then stops Jemma.

 

“Jems, what the hell are you doing?”

 

“I don’t—I’m not sure,” Jemma breathes, staring up at Bobbi in confusion.

 

Bobbi sighs. “I never should have told you. I got you all twisted.”

 

“No!” Jemma denies. “I just—I think I meant to do that. Or I at least meant to try.”

 

Bobbi shakes her head. “I’ve known the two of you for a really long time. And I love you both, so I don’t want to see anyone get hurt.”

 

“You’re right,” Jemma agrees firmly. She notches her chin up higher, steeling her shoulders. “Fitz is the most precious thing to me. I’m not going to ruin that just because I know what a good kisser he is. Perhaps I’m just…lonely.”

 

Bobbi looks at her doubtfully. “I don’t mean you have to rule anything out,” Bobbi says quickly. “I just want you to be sure.”

 

Jemma nods. “I do need to be sure. And right now, I’m not. And God knows what he’s thinking.”

 

Her gaze drifts toward where he and Hunter are sitting at a table in the corner. It’s perfectly hidden from most of the bar. The place is crowded and it’s easy to blend in, even dressed the way that they are.

 

“We already got a round,” Bobbi tells her, nodding toward the boys. “Let’s head over then. I’m sorry if I came off harsh.”

 

Jemma squeezes her arm. “No, you’re right. And I appreciate it. I don’t know what’s gotten into me lately.”

 

“Well I know what you want to get into you,” Bobbi says quietly into her ear just as they reach the table. Jemma looks at her, scandalized, before she sits beside Fitz and reaches for the gin and tonic on the table. Fitz cradles a glass of whiskey, leaning back against the wall with one arm on the back of her chair.

 

Jemma was right. He and Hunter hit it off almost immediately. Their respective dry humor and slight aloofness make for some great banter that has Bobbi nearly spitting out her vodka cranberry in laughter. Bobbi insists on taking a selfie of them all at one point, to commemorate the occasion. Jemma pretends to be annoyed but secretly hopes that Bobbi will send it to her tomorrow.

 

At some point during a conversation about Hunter’s band, Fitz’s thumb starts to draw small circles on her shoulder. His gaze is focused narrowly on Hunter as he hangs on the other man’s every word. Jemma has always teased Fitz about his not-so-secret dream of being a rockstar rather than an actor. It’s one of the more adorable things about him.

 

She takes the opportunity to drink him in. The low light of the bar plays nicely against his cheekbones and his blue eyes look extra sparkly as Hunter tells a story about a crazy show he played in Liverpool. Fitz sucks his lower lip between his teeth in anticipation of the rest of the story and it’s simultaneously the cutest and sexiest she’s ever seen him look.

 

A flash suddenly distracts her. She finds Bobbi, mouth grimaced in apology, camera pointed at Fitz and Jemma. Fitz briefly glances over and then rolls his eyes, telling Hunter to keep going with his story.

 

Jemma’s phone buzzes in her clutch and she ignores it. She doesn’t check it until long after Fitz has dropped her off with a kiss on her forehead and a promise to see her soon.

 

She pulls it out as she steps out of her heels at the door, calling for Widget. She has three texts from Bobbi. The first is just the selfie they’d taken, with no caption. The second is a candid photo of her and Fitz, his arm around her back, fingers on her shoulder. Her elbow rests on the table, cheek resting on her hand as she gazes up at him.

 

She’s smiling ever so slightly, but it’s her eyes that stand out the most. Even in the poor quality of the photo, her gaze looks so sappily adoring that it should disgust her.

 

There’s a caption under this one.

 

_[Bobbi]: I take it back. Are you sure you’re not sure?_

Jemma sucks in a sharp breath, gaze floating back to the photograph.


	6. The Green Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma finally comes to terms with her jealousy, and FitzSimmons meets with Maria Hill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So originally this chapter and the next one were one gigantic uber chapter, but it was just way too bulky to read. So, I've split them up but decided to post them at the same time.

In the days before their meeting with Maria Hill, Fitz is incredibly attentive. He shows up on time for lunches, accompanies her on a Skype call with her parents, comes out with her, Bobbi, and Hunter, and even takes her out for dinner to one of her favorite places. He’s not a big fan of it because all of the food is organic and healthy, but he only complains twice throughout the entire meal.

 

Despite all of his attentiveness, he spends a good amount of time on his phone while they’re together. Against her better judgment, she sneaks a peek at the screen and sees Skye’s name at the top of his texts. It stabs at her a little bit more than it did before, and per Bobbi’s instruction, she does her best to figure out why.

 

It isn’t until she finally agrees to have lunch with him and Skye that she admits that she’s jealous. He and Skye joke around over Pad Thai while she picks at her own food, eyes darting between them uncomfortably. Skye is touchy, always placing her hand on his arm when he makes her laugh. Every time Skye’s fingers brush against Fitz’s skin or she says something that gets that little chuckle out of him that for so long she thought belonged to her, she wants to scream.

 

She’s jealous and she hates it, and she fleetingly hates them both for it.

 

The bubbly brunette does her best to include Jemma in the conversation, though, and she has to give her credit for that.

 

“So Jemma, I’ve heard the story of how you met from Fitz, but I wanna hear your side!” Skye says.

 

Jemma clears her throat and shifts in her seat. Fitz has avoided looking at her for several minutes now and she doesn’t want to know why.

 

“Well, we met at our screen test. It was down to us and two other actors, so they had us do a scene and then switch partners. My first partner was actually Trip if you can believe it, and Fitz did the scene with Raina. Then they had us give it a go together it just—clicked.”

 

“Which scene was it?” Skye asks, leaning in with interest.

 

“Well, with Trip they had me do the scene where my character runs away from home after the fight with her mum’s boyfriend and they meet at the park to talk about it. I can’t remember which one Fitz did with Raina—“

 

“It was the same one,” Fitz fills in. Jemma nods.

 

“Right, so we had done that scene earlier. We got halfway through it and the director cut us off and told us to try the scene in the basement, after they’ve both tried the drug—“

 

Skye gasps, smacking her palms on the table. “No way. They made you guys go at it?”

 

Jemma’s nose crinkles. “You could say that, yes. It was mortifying for both of us. Fitz excused himself and didn’t come back for nearly fifteen minutes. For a minute I thought he’d walked out on the audition all together, or that he just _hated_ me.”

 

Fitz rolls his eyes. “I just needed to go over the lines again.”

 

“They were letting us use the scripts,” she reminds him. “Anyway, we were each other’s first kiss. In front of some very powerful movie executives, both of our parents, and our managers.”

 

Skye dissolves into uncontrollable giggles. “Fitz didn’t tell me that! He just said that you two met at an audition!”

 

“Yeah, well, It’s embarrassing,” Fitz grumbles, cheeks tinted pink. Jemma tries not to take offense to that. The entire ordeal had been extremely embarrassing at seventeen, and she knows that it has nothing to do with her.

 

“Everyone on earth has seen you two make out at least once,” Skye scoffs. “So many of your movies have you guys end up together. No wonder people want you to get on each other so badly.”

 

Fitz begins heartily coughing, pounding on the center of his chest with a fist. Skye’s eyes widen and she starts smacking him on the back. Jemma just lets out an exasperated sigh.

 

“Ugh, Fitz! You’re always eating too fast.”

 

He gulps down half of his glass of water and rubs the tears from his eyes. “Yeah. Ate too fast.”

 

“Hey, so I have an audition coming up for a part in a movie,” Skye says after Fitz has settled down. “And I was wondering if you might be willing to help me with it?”

 

Jemma redirects her eyes back to her plate, resting her cheek on her palm. When Fitz doesn’t respond to Skye, she glances back up. Skye looks at her expectantly, and Fitz looks a bit annoyed with her.

 

“Wait, me?”

 

“Yeah,” Skye breathes nervously. “It was stupid. Nevermind.”

 

Now Fitz looks _really_ cross with her.

 

“No, no!” Jemma rushes to cover. “I just figured you were asking Fitz. I’d be happy to help, Skye. When’s the audition?”

 

“It’s next Wednesday,” Skye beams. “It’s to play the girlfriend in a superhero movie. I always said I wouldn’t do something like that, but—“

 

“Sometimes you have to take what you can get in this industry,” Jemma nods in understanding. “You wouldn’t believe how many times Fitz and I have been pitched movies where he’s some amazing character and I’m just the floozy following him around.”

 

“That 80s punk one would have been really good,” Fitz defends.

 

“Oh, not the 80s punk movie again!” Jemma huffs, throwing her hands up.

 

“You didn’t even finish the script!”

 

Skye snaps her fingers between them and Jemma is suddenly brought to awareness. She and Fitz have both leaned in to one another in their bickering, faces mere inches from one another.

 

“Y’all have no concept of personal space,” Skye innocently observes. “So Jemma, do you think you could come by my place sometime before and help me with the lines? And with what to wear?”

 

Jemma musters up a convincing smile. “Not a problem, Skye.”

 

She grins broadly. “Thank you. Seriously, it means a lot to me.”

 

Jemma smiles once more, unable to come up with something else to say. Fitz watches her closely, and she can’t decide if she’s more uncomfortable looking at him or looking at Skye. By some miracle, she survives the rest of lunch. She gives Skye her phone number at the end so that they can plan what day to meet up for Skye’s audition preparation.

 

As they leave the restaurant, Jemma moves toward her car, turning to Fitz.

 

“Do you want to come over for a bit to go over our pitch for Hill?”

 

He shifts awkwardly at his feet, glancing back to where Skye waits at his car. “Skye and I are actually going to do the Hollywood sign hike.”

 

Her eyes narrow on their own volition. She’s known Leo Fitz for eight years, and in that time she’s learned many things about him. Some of the very first had been his aversion to physical activities and his disdain for any and all touristy activities (at least in Los Angeles). She’d tried to drag him to the Hollywood signs _so_ many times, only to be told that they could see it perfectly well from just about any street in West Hollywood and he had no interest of climbing up a mountain just to see the backside of it, _thank you very much._

She must look more wounded than she thinks because he scratches behind his ear, a nervous tick she recognizes immediately.

 

“Have fun, Fitz,” she finally says. She smiles at him with just the smallest uptick of the corners of her mouth. “Nice to see you, Skye!” she calls to the girl waiting at his car. Skye waves eagerly back, completely unaware of the brewing tension happening further down the sidewalk.

 

“I’ll come over for breakfast tomorrow?” Fitz asks hopefully. “We can go over everything then. If we leave your place by 10:15, we’ll make it there in plenty of time—“

 

“Sure, Fitz. See you then.”

She turns away from him and unlocks her car, slipping inside. She sees him standing on the sidewalk, watching her for a long moment before he turns around and walks toward Skye to get in his own car.

 

She turns up the stereo, letting it play whatever comes on the radio. Her mind doesn’t even register the music, or the action of driving, as she makes her way home. Recognizing the pure jealousy she felt during that entire afternoon has her thoughts spinning in circles.

 

Is she jealous because he’s spending time with someone else? Is it because Skye is a beautiful young woman who has a certain kind of charisma that she herself has never possessed? Does she view Skye as a threat to her professional partnership, to her friendship, or to something else?

 

For a person who thrives on organization, her inability to categorize any kind of causal connection for her jealousy just frustrates her. For days she’s been thinking about the kisses they’d almost shared the night of Trip’s premiere. Her dreams have vacillated between cruel flashbacks to that awful day in Fitz’s old apartment and some equally cruel fantasies of the R-rated persuasion.

 

When she pulls into her driveway, she still hasn’t decided if she just wants to keep Fitz forever, as her partner and friend, or if she wants to actually _be with_ him.

 

Bobbi was right. She can’t make any rash decisions on this because doing so would destroy everything. He means too much to her and is too deep down in her bones for her to ever lose him.

 

Besides, it’s probably too late for her anyway. The way he and Skye interact so easily and fluidly contrasts starkly with their own interactions as of late. Since making up, things had been going so well, but then something like their lunch with Skye happens and everything seems to fall several steps backward.

 

She’s not sure how she feels about him or them or Skye or any of it, but she is absolutely certain of one thing: if he does anything to compromise their meeting with Hill tomorrow, she’ll absolutely kill him.

 

***

 

Fitz shows up at her door at exactly 9:00 a.m., dressed in smart business clothes. He’s even wearing a tie, and he holds a bag of groceries under one arm as he wrenches his key from her front door. The anxiety buzzing in her blood settles to a manageable level at the sight of him looking so presentable and prepared.

 

 _A bit more than just presentable, don’t you think?_ she wonders to herself as he bends down to pat Widget on the head. Shaking herself, she smiles brightly at him.

 

“What exactly are you making?”

 

He rolls up his shirt sleeves with a smirk. “As if you have to ask, Simmons.”

 

“Eggs benedict?”

 

“Unless you’d prefer something else,” he sighs dramatically, flipping a saucepan around with a small rotation of his wrist. She shakes her head emphatically.

 

“No better way to start the day than a Leo Fitz special,” she grins back at him. She sits back on a barstool, Widget perched on her lap, as Fitz moves through her kitchen with ease. He knows the location of every last item perhaps even better than she does, and he chats idly as he works.

 

“So I’ve been going through the possible doubts Hill might have,” he tells her as he sets about whisking the ingredients for Hollandaise sauce. “And I think the biggest one is, well, me.”

 

Jemma flinches, but makes no move to deny it. “So how do we respond to that?”

 

“I’ll offer to have my therapist give bimonthly reports. And I’ve got a letter of reference with me from the director of Maveth confirming that there were no issues on set.”

 

Jemma smiles proudly. “That’s great, Fitz. I’m sure that’ll put any worries at ease.”

 

She can tell he’s still nervous, but he agrees anyway. “Then there’s going to be the issue of…us.”

 

She sucks in a sharp breath. “Us?”

 

“Well, it’s, y’know, kind of a love story at the heart of it, yeah? With all this tabloid drama—“

 

Jemma scoffs. “Do you really think Maria Hill is going to reject a very well written film with two Oscar winners behind it just because of something on TMZ? I doubt she even reads that garbage.”

 

“True,” Fitz admits. “But we’ve got to consider it. I’m just trying to be as prepared as possible.”

 

Truthfully, Fitz would feel just fine walking in with no plan and Jemma knows it. It’s how he’s conducted most of their meetings since she met him. He had no plan when he walked into the Chemistry audition and his improvisation skills were impressive.

 

Jemma, on the other hand, requires excessive preparation. He’s doing all of this for her benefit so she quashes her discomfort. He turns back to the stove and it becomes easier to speak to him on the topic.

 

“At most we may get a question about this ridiculous love triangle business that they’re all spreading about. So I guess you should have something prepared to say about Skye.”

 

Jemma is fishing and she’s not proud of it. While they’ve always been open about the fact that they both date, details of relationships tend to get left out in some strange show of courtesy that Jemma’s never questioned until recently. Why should the details of his relationships with other women bother her, and vice versa?

 

Other than the occasional advice she’d given him, and his support through the Will Daniels breakup, they’d studiously ignored the other’s relationships for years. Not that they had much time for relationships outside of work and one another.

 

“I think she’d be great for the role of Daisy, by the way,” Fitz mentions. He tries to sound casual but she’s spent long enough to know when he’s memorized something.

 

“Daisy?” Jemma repeats, taken aback. “You mean the character that nearly tears them apart in the fourth universe?”

 

Fitz’s shoulders stiffen. “Yes. Do you not think she’d be good?”

 

“I just don’t think we should be casting anyone until we’ve gotten the funding we need.”

 

“I haven’t casted anyone,” he grunts. “Just a suggestion.”

 

They still haven’t talked about what to say if Skye is brought up during their meeting.

 

“Fine. We’ll deal with that when we get to it. What are you going to say if Hill asks about Skye in this meeting?”

 

Fitz shrugs. “I’ll tell her that we’ve been spending a lot of time together but it’s not a problem between you and I. The studio would have nothing to worry about. We’re professionals.”

 

It feels like a bullet to the stomach. It’s not that he’s pretending Skye isn’t a wedge pushing them further apart; it’s that he truly _believes_ that she isn’t, and that’s what hurts. Somewhere along the line they’ve fallen out of sync and she’s got no idea how to get them back on track.

 

She sips on her tea in silence for a while until he asks her to toast the English muffins. She hops up to do so and pulls herself together enough to be a convincing best friend for the remainder of their breakfast, but her stomach is still in knots as they get in his car to head to the meeting.

 

“You brought the Porsche,” she remarks as they step into her driveway. He winks as he unlocks it.

 

“For good luck.”

 

***

 

Maria Hill clicks off her Bluetooth in her ear and sits gracefully in her chair.

 

“Let’s get right to it,” she says, shuffling a few papers on her desk. “I read the screenplay as a favor to Phil, but I was pleasantly surprised by how good it is. We’ll need to do some tweaking, but overall I’m confident this project could gross pretty highly for an independent film and it’s basically got Sundance awards written all over it. Two soulmates finding each other again and again in different universes? People will love it, especially with you two in the leads.”

 

Jemma reaches for Fitz’s knee underneath the table, squeezing it quickly.

 

“We’re really glad to hear that,” Fitz smiles in relief.

 

“There’s just one issue,” Hill tells them, still all-business. “Our independent film sector has products slated for the next three years. There’s just not room in our budget to add an additional one.”

 

Jemma feels herself begin to deflate. Fitz, for his part, looks as though he’s been punched in the gut.

 

“Oh,” Jemma says awkwardly. “Well, that’s—I suppose that it would be better to have it made late than never. We’re very committed to this project.”

 

“Yeah,” Fitz jumps in. “Whatever it takes, we’re up for the challenge.”

 

Hill smiles, the first one since the meeting began. “I was hoping you would say that. Are either of you locked in to any projects in the next few months?”

 

Jemma and Fitz exchange a glance and shake their heads in unison. “No, ma’am, we’re not.”

 

She gives Fitz a look. “Don’t call me ma’am. This stays between us, but we’re looking to axe John Garrett’s latest project. The entire thing is going up in flames as we speak. We’re just trying to figure out how to make him go away with the least damage to our budget as possible.”

 

“Sorry, but what does this mean for us?” Fitz asks, leaning forward.

 

“It means that I could push your project to the front of the line. We’d begin pre-production in the next couple of months. If you two can assure that you won’t take on any other projects in the meantime, I’ll iron out some contracts with Phil and Melinda while our legal team finds a loophole in Garrett’s.”

 

A squeak slips from Jemma’s lips and she slaps a hand over her mouth, cheeks reddening. “I’m so sorry. It’s just—it’s always been a dream of mine to work with you, you’re such an inspiration to women in the field and this is so much better than I ever could have hoped for.”

 

Hill looks vaguely amused Jemma’s gushing and Fitz simply gapes like a fish out of water.

 

“So, do we have a deal then?”

 

Jemma nods enthusiastically, standing abruptly to shake Hill’s hand. Fitz remains seated and still, eyes wide.

 

“Fitz!” Jemma hisses.

 

“Right!” he exclaims, standing clumsily and shaking Hill’s hand. “Thank you so much for your time.”

 

“I wouldn’t be doing this if your project wasn’t worth it. Although I have been looking for something to replace Garret’s film in our line-up. That guy is a pain in the ass.”

 

Jemma has only met the man once, but he’d creeped her out and she’d heard a multitude of rumors about his strange behaviors. “So I hear. We’ll be looking out for those contracts.”

 

Hill’s phone starts ringing and she shoos them out with one hand, pressing the Bluetooth in her ear. “Go for Hill.”

 

Fitz and Jemma manage to hold their composure until the elevator doors close behind them. As soon as they shut, they turn to one another. Fitz jumps up, pumping a fist in victory with a little whoop.

 

“Holy hell, Jemma!”

 

“Oh my God!” she squeals, hopping up and down as well as she grabs onto his arms. “Fitz! It’s happening!”

 

“We did it!”

 

She throws her arms around him, knocking him into the wall of the elevator and banging his head against it. He grunts in discomfort but hugs her tightly anyway, lifting her toes ever-so-slightly off of the ground.

 

“We need to celebrate,” Jemma says decisively once he’s put her back down. She can feel his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths of excitement and her traitorous thoughts briefly flash to other ways she could make him breathe like that.

 

“I’ve got plans with Hunter tonight,” Fitz suggests. “Bring Bobbi along and we’ll make it a party.”

 

Feeling particularly generous, Jemma beams at him. “Why don’t we invite Skye as well?”

 

Fitz looks surprised but nods. “Yeah, that would be—that’d be great.”

 

“Don’t forget, all we can say is that the meeting went well,” Jemma reminds him as they exit the elevator. “No details.”

 

Fitz mimes zipping his lips. “Cross my heart. Not a peep out of me.”

 

She grabs at his arm with a little skip in her step. “Oh Fitz, it’s going to happen!”

 

He smiles fondly. “I know, Jemma, I was there.”

 

“I’m just so excited,” she giggles. “I feel like I could conquer the world right now.”

 

He crinkles his nose at her as they walk toward the parking lot. “Y’know, you always say that whenever something really good happens. I’m starting to think you might be a bit of a megalomaniac, Simmons.”

 

“Don’t worry, Fitz. When I eventually become global empress, I’ll be sure to save you a spot in my palace.”

 

He shakes his head, twinkle in his eye. “How kind of you. In this scenario am I your trusted advisor or a mere court jester?”

 

“Every empress needs a foot masseuse, of course,” she teases.

 

“I’m not going near your weird feet,” Fitz grins, starting the car. “Besides, I’ve seen you get a pedicure. Nearly broke that poor woman’s nose with your flailing.”

 

“I’m ticklish!” Jemma defends. “And I’ll supply you with a helmet. To protect your face, of course.”

 

“Thanks, Simmons,” he says wryly. “Always looking out.”

 

They fall into silence for a while, Jemma squirming in the front seat with nervous energy. He finally sighs.

 

“What is it, Jemma?”

 

“Would you be opposed to going through the screenplay for an hour or so? She said she wanted to make some tweaks and I just want to prepare for that eventuality. We should decide what parts we’re willing to lose and which are most important to keep—“

 

“I was thinking the same thing,” Fitz says. “If she tries to take out the part with World War II just because of costs of effects—“

 

“I’m more concerned with the police one,” Jemma shoots back. “I swear, if they try to say that I should play the troubled criminal and you should play the officer just because I’m a girl—“

 

“Yeah well that’s a bit of a risk you decided to take when you insisted my character be a male prostitute in that particular universe.”

 

“It’s unique!” she protests. “Drug dealers and murderers are all played out. Now a male prostitute? That’s something different.”

 

“You should prepare yourself for the fact that you’d make a far more convincing hooker than I would, Jemma.”

 

Her jaw drops in offense and she smacks him hard on the shoulder. “What’s that supposed to mean?!”

 

“I just mean that anyone would pay to have sex with you!” he exclaims, voice rising. Jemma’s face morphs from outrage to vaguely appalled curiosity. “I’m just—I’m sure men would pay a very pretty penny to get on—all of this.”

 

He gestures vaguely at her breasts and she makes a strangled noise in the back of her throat.

 

“I just mean that I’ve got the body of a twelve year old boy, Jemma. Not the most believable sex symbol.”

 

“You do not!” she huffs. “You’re quite well-formed and symmetrical, Fitz. If I ever had to hire a male escort, I’d be quite pleased if he looked like you.”

 

Fitz doesn’t seem to notice that he’s coming up on a red light.

 

“FITZ!” she shouts, throwing her arm out against his chest as he slams on the brakes. He looks to her, eyes a bit wild and alarmed.

 

“That may be the strangest compliment you’ve ever given me,” Fitz says after a long, charged moment of silence.  

 

“Yes well, you’re the one who started it by commenting on all of _this,”_ she replies awkwardly. Inexplicably, she grabs her chest and his eyes are automatically drawn to her palms cupping her breasts. He gulps and she looks down at her own hands as though she’s surprised by their placement.

 

“Green,” Fitz blurts out, tearing his eyes from her and back onto the road. “The light is green.”

 

“It is,” she says crisply. “That means go.”

 

“Mhm,” he hums. He shifts in his seat as he accelerates again and Jemma stares out of the opposite window, lighting banging her forehead against it.

 

_What the hell was that?_


	7. Good News, Bad News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma's talk with Bobbi and Skye encourages her to finally take the plunge, only to have her happiness cut short by an ill-timed confession from Fitz.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, folks. Here it is. My very first attempt at smut. 
> 
> I apologize so profusely if it's just the most atrocious thing you've ever read. Feel free to just skip it if that's the case. 
> 
> Also, I know this chapter is very bittersweet so please don't hate me! I swear it's all going to turn out okay in the end.

They end up at a bar a few blocks away from Fitz’s apartment. The man in question is in the middle of a heated pool game with Hunter across the room while Bobbi, Jemma, and Skye sit in a booth sipping on their drinks.

 

“This is so embarrassing, but can we take a photo for my instagram?” Skye asks nervously. “It’s just—my show is doing not so good, but I have a pretty strong social media presence—“

 

“Say no more,” Jemma laughs. She’s a little bit buzzed and she’s still riding out her high from their meeting with Hill that morning. Besides, the industry pits women against each other enough as it is. Anything Jemma can do to prop up a fellow actress’s career is good in her book.

 

Skye smiles in relief and takes a series of selfies with Bobbi and Jemma. She posts one and thanks them profusely for it.

 

“Please, Skye, don’t worry about it,” Bobbi tells her. “We’ve both been in that position before. Well, okay, ours happened before the days of Instagram, but we get where you’re coming from.”

 

“Oh, definitely,” Jemma agrees. “But enough shop talk. Tell us about _you_ Skye.”

 

“God, this is weird,” Skye mumbles. “Bobbi Morse and Jemma Simmons, wanting to hear about _me.”_

Bobbi laughs. “Again, Skye, we’re just normal people.”

 

“You are not a normal person,” Skye clarifies. “You are literally an Amazonian goddess.”

 

Bobbi blushes slightly, tossing her hair with a little laugh. “Hunter better watch out. Flattery gets you everywhere with me.”

 

She winks and Jemma giggles loudly at Bobbi’s behavior. “Bob’s a bit of a flirt when she’s drunk. I apologize on her behalf.”

 

Skye laughs too, loosening up in their relaxed presence. “You guys are fun. Like, really fun. I always thought the quirky, funny girl thing you guys have going on was just for interviews and cameras but you’re like—real life funny.”

 

“It was either be myself or try to figure out how to pull of that crazy mysterious Raina thing,” Jemma confides. “I tried it for a few weeks and I just could not do it.”

 

Skye crinkles her nose. “Okay but her whole vibe is kinda scary, don’t you think? Is she like that in real life too?”

 

Bobbi nods. “I think she’s gotten so deep into that public character that she’s just…become it. It’s creepy. My advice to you as you get further into this job is that you _don’t_ go the Raina route.”

 

“Can I ask you guys something?”

 

“Of course,” Bobbi and Jemma reply in unison. Skye takes a deep breath.

 

“It’s about…a boy. That sounds so immature.”

 

Jemma’s heart drops to her toes. She’d been having such a nice time, finally making the effort to get along with Skye. While she still hasn’t decided what to do about her jealousy, she at least knows that it exists now, and the flames of it are about to consume her. She braces herself for the inevitable and nods for Skye to continue.

 

“I totally embarrassed myself the first time I met Antoine Triplett, but when I saw him at his premiere I think he was maybe flirting with me a little bit. Do you know if he’s like, seeing anyone? Or if he might be interested in me?”

 

Every muscle in Jemma’s body relaxes like she’s just sunk into a Jacuzzi tub after a long day. Skye’s not interested in Fitz at all, she’s interested in _Trip._

She glances up at her best friend across the room. He leans arrogantly on the pool table, beer in one hand as he taunts Hunter while he attempts to make a shot without knocking in the 8 ball.

 

Fitz has never particularly excelled at making male friends, and seeing the ease with which he interacts with Hunter causes her heart to tighten a bit with pride. He’s come a long way, grown up at some point and she’d missed it.

 

“Uh, Jemma?” Skye interrupts, waving a hand in front of her face. “Thoughts?”

 

Jemma starts, taking a swig of her drink. “Yes, right. Trip. As far as I know he isn’t seeing anyone. I can put in a good word for you. Maybe we can all have a group outing and I’ll invite him along?”

 

“Like a triple date!” Bobbi agrees enthusiastically. Jemma’s brow furrows.

 

“That’d be two couples, not three.”

 

“If you and Fitz come, that’s three,” Skye tells her. “Right, sorry, I forget. Not a couple.”

 

“It gets hard to remember,” Bobbi stage-whispers to the brunette. They both laugh and Jemma shakes her head in mild annoyance. This conversation is not helping her confusion.

 

“Fitz told me he would pay money to have sex with me,” Jemma bursts out.

 

Bobbi’s begins violently choking on her drink and Skye’s face morphs into a cartoonish expression of confusion and borderline disgust.

 

“What the fuck?” Skye breathes. “Why would he say that?”

 

Jemma screws her face up, shutting her eyes tightly as she presses on. She tells them about the conversation in his car and even about the strange way she had pawed at her own boobs. Bobbi and Skye remain completely silent even as she’s finished her story. She slowly opens her eyes and they’re both on the verge of hysterical laughter.

 

“I’m sorry, I just didn’t realize that two people with so much history could still be so fucking awkward,” Skye gets out between cackles. “Haven’t you guys straight up seen each other naked?”

 

“Basically,” Jemma admits, face heating up. “But that’s, y’know, a very different environment—“

 

“I really got in your head, didn’t I?” Bobbi asks apologetically. “When I said you should be sure I didn’t mean that you should act like you’ve never spoken to a human man before.”

 

“He started it!”

 

“Fair,” Bobbi agrees. “But also, have you met Fitz? Did you really expect him to ever be smooth, about anything, ever?”

 

“He can be, though!” Jemma argues. “When he’s in his element—“

 

“As an actor,” Bobbi clarifies. “But not as himself.”

 

Jemma sighs. “I suppose that’s true.”

 

“Here’s my advice,” Skye chimes in. Jemma blinks at her in surprise and Skye withdraws a bit uncomfortably. “Not that anyone asked for it.”

 

“No, no,” Jemma corrects. “At this point, I’m open to all opinions.”

 

“If nothing’s ever happened between you two as yourselves and not just as some characters in front of like, a hundred people, you need to just try it. The unresolved sexual tension is so thick I practically drown in it whenever you’re in the same room.”

 

“Agreed,” Bobbi hums. Jemma shoots her an accusatory glance and Bobbi raises her hands. “Hey, my other advice pushed you too far the other way. Call it overcorrecting.”

 

“Shut up, they’re coming,” Skye hisses. Hunter and Fitz make their way back over and Hunter drops into the seat beside Bobbi, kissing her quickly.

 

“So, who won the battle royale?”

 

“The bloody Scot,” Hunter grumbles. Bobbi grins and pulls him down for a long consulation kiss that quickly spirals out of control. He bends Bobbi back practically into Jemma’s lap and she scrambles backward in her efforts to avoid being used as a sex wedge.

 

Fitz grabs her chair, yanking her back toward him.

 

“Thanks,” she sighs, rolling her eyes. His mouth is near her ear as he responds.

 

“No problem.”

 

His scruff, grown back in since the premiere, tickles at her neck. Skye looks between them and then toward Bobbi and Hunter’s makeout session. She stands and ruffles Fitz’s hair.

 

“Alright, kiddos, I’m gonna head home. Make good choices. Jemma, I’ll see you next week?”

 

“Yeah,” Jemma agrees. “And I’ll text you-know-who about the you-know-what.”

 

“Oh my God,” Skye groans. “Just—come up with a code word or something.”

 

Hunter and Bobbi separate long enough to say goodbye to her and then the model stands as well.

 

“We should go too.”

 

“Yep,” Hunter sighs, looking disoriented. His stare remains on his girlfriend. “We have to go—do something—important…”

 

“Just go,” Fitz groans. He laughs as they leave, still pawing at each other. He and Jemma still remain close together. “Should we head home too?”

 

Jemma grabs the remainder of Skye’s abandoned drink and downs it for a bit of courage. “Yeah. Should we go to your place?”

 

His eyebrows raise and he just blinks for a moment until he begins nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, my place is good.”

 

She smiles. “Excellent.”

 

They close out their tabs and leave the bar, walking in the balmy Los Angeles air back to his apartment. She’d left her car there anyway.

 

The new tension that’s been building between them since Trip’s premiere aches heavily between them. Jemma feels her heart speed up the closer that they get to his building. Is she really going to do this? Will he even accept it?

 

Fitz, for his part, seems unbelievably nervous. Despite invading one another’s space for years, something about her offer to come to his apartment after the bar had been _different._

 

When they get to his place, she easily slips out of her wedges and falls onto his couch. He shrugs off his leather jacket and tosses it onto a nearby chair, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt just to give his hands something to do.

 

“D’you want a drink?”

 

“Sure,” Jemma accepts. Then she thinks better of it. “Actually, wait. No.”

 

He quirks a brow at her. “Alright.”

 

He pivots away from the kitchen and sits near her on the couch, just close enough that it won’t be too difficult for her to make her move. He watches her nervously, his eyes a bit guarded.

 

“Jemma, is everything alright? You’re being—weird.”

 

“What d’you mean?” she says too quickly.

 

“You’re looking at me…differently,” he breathes so quietly she can barely hear him. Steeling herself, she scoots closer.

 

“I have been,” she admits. “Look, Fitz, can I try something? Do you trust me?”

 

His eyes bore into hers. “Of course I trust you.”

 

She nods resolutely, inhaling a shaking breath before grasping at the back of his neck with one hand. He tenses slightly and she swoops in, pressing her lips to his.

 

Her plan had been to move slowly, cautiously kiss him and let him take it or leave it. As soon as her mouth makes contact with his, her plan flies out of the window. Fitz leans back, slightly away from her out of surprise (she hopes), and she persistently bends into him. Her determination pays off and she feels him suck in a sharp breath through his nose before he threads his hands into her hair, tugging her even closer as his mouth moves heatedly against hers.

 

His teeth nip at her bottom lip and she releases a breathy little sigh that seems to bolster his confidence. One hand slips down from her hair, running down her arm so that he can grasp firmly at her hip. Jemma raises her feet from the floor, tucking them underneath her legs on the couch so that she’s kneeling. He adjusts accordingly, twisting his body around so that she can properly swing one leg over his lap.

 

From this new position, his wandering hands have greater range. With every brush of his fingers against her, the fire building in her center spreads. She presses nearly bruising kisses to his mouth in her desperation to somehow get even closer to him than she already is. Her eager fingers deftly begin undoing the buttons of his blue shirt that she’d been admiring all day. She suddenly wants it to be very, very far away from her.

 

Fitz groans as she ruts her hips forward over him, detaching his mouth from hers at the contact. She smiles slightly and takes the opportunity to nip at his neck, just below his ear, the same spot that he’s always scratching at when he gets nervous. He sucks in a gasp and his hands tighten on her ass, pushing her more firmly against him. Now it’s her turn to moan at the sensation. His hands move up to slide beneath her blouse, seeking the contact with her bare skin. She shivers against his touch and rocks experimentally, seeking some sort of rhthym against his twitching hips.

 

“Jemma,” he groans. Her name has never sounded so good, simultaneously a prayer and a curse. She pulls him forward by the collar, leaving enough room between him and the couch so that he can wriggle out of his shirt. As soon as he’s freed from it, she drags her fingernails down his chest, reveling in the whimpering noise that he makes when she does so.

 

This is Fitz, her Fitz, and despite the numerous times that she’s done something like this to him in front of a camera, this is a completely new experience. The sounds he makes aren’t pre-planned, they don’t move for purposes of lighting or the best angles.

 

It’s just heat and tension unfurling and _them,_ finally them. She feels his fingers tremble slightly as they move from her back around to her front, tugging at the hem of her top. She stops kissing him just long enough to discard it, leaning back down to eagerly capture his mouth once more. Her heart stops when he pushes her back.

 

She thinks he’s about to say that they need to stop, that this is a mistake, question what the hell she was thinking. Instead, he’s staring at her, his chest heaving as his heart thrums wildly beneath her fingers. Lips swollen from her kisses, his tongue darts out to wet them as he studies her hungrily. Her breath catches in her throat at the expression on his face; she’s never been looked at this way again and she questions in the back of her mind if anyone on earth has ever been viewed this reverently.

 

Her mind goes blank when he pulls her back down to kiss her again, more softly this time.

 

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs against her lips. Butterflies erupt in her gut at the whispered compliment, but they’re quickly chased away by flames as he stands suddenly. She squeals and clenches her thighs around him, gripping tightly to his neck with her arms.

 

“Bed?” she breathes.

 

He nods firmly, backing into the halfway open door to push it all the way open. She expects him to toss her onto his bed, but he lays her down gently instead. It’s dark in his room and she can only vaguely see him as he moves to lower himself down on top of her. Fumbling with her right hand, she flicks the light on just as his tongue finds her neck.

 

“Hm?” he hums in question, still focused on his task.

 

“I want to see,” she moans out. This elicits another groan from him and he sucks at her pulse point while one hand snakes up to her breasts. He palms one of them, gently at first and then with increasing confidence when she writhes under him. She arches up against him, hoping to encourage him to unclasp her bra. Their ability to wordlessly communicate seems to extend into the bedroom, as he immediately does as she wants. She impatiently tosses it to the side and catches that same awestruck look on his face as he takes her in. Her hands move to run through his curls and he shakes his head slightly before swooping down to swirl his tongue around her nipple.

 

She shudders, grasping his hair so tightly she briefly worries about hurting him until she feels him hum in pleasure. Her hips buck up, searching for friction as his hand kneads her other breast. He draws her peak into his mouth with a firm suck, causing her to cry out with a little whine as his fingers pinch lightly at her other one.

 

“God,” she whimpers. “Fitz.”

 

His hips jolt forward on their own accord, rubbing against her center through her jeans. She desperately fumbles for the button on his pants and she makes quick work of his zipper, grasping his hard cock. His movements still as he gasps into her chest.

 

“Christ,” he curses. “Fuck, Jemma.”

 

“Off,” she demands, tugging at the waistband of his jeans. He nods, awkwardly climbing out of them. As he does so, Jemma decides to proactively remove her own. She gets a big caught in them.

 

“Fucking skinny jeans,” she growls. He chuckles and helps her peel them from her wildly kicking legs. She meets his eyes and can’t help but start giggling. He freezes for a moment before he starts to laugh with her, tumbling back over her. They shake with mirth, chest to chest on his bed, and he peppers her face with kisses in between laughs.

 

“Is this--?” he starts.

 

“Happening?” Jemma finishes. “Seems like it.”

 

He meets her mouth in another hot kiss, slipping his tongue behind her teeth. The laughter falls away as his fingers begin to rub her center over the lace of her underwear. He breaks away to pant desperately against her neck.

 

She can already feel the tension escalating to the point of no return as his ministrations quicken. She thrusts her chest forward and he takes the hint, capturing her nipple in his mouth once again. The combined feeling of his nips and licks and his dexterous hands against her clit has her bucking desperately against his hand. She’s not sure when she starts blabbering nonsense, but she suddenly can’t stop herself.

 

“Fitz,” she whimpers. “Oh, God. Mm. Yes, yes, oh god.”

 

Each word from her lips seems to increase his determination. He removes his hand and she lets out a displeased groan until he positions himself over her so that he can press his hardness against her. With a bit of adjusting, he hits the perfect spot and she cries out. She begins to tremble underneath him and he raises his mouth to her neck, biting down a bit roughly before licking the same spot. His teeth brush against her ear lobe.

 

“Come for me,” he growls into her ear.

 

She comes undone with a loud whine, fingernails digging in to his bare shoulder with one hand and tugging hard on his hair with the other. She meets his eyes just as his mouth falls open. His little shout of pleasure might be the best sound she’s ever heard, his eyes shutting in bliss as he collapses forward against her.

 

She flips him over quickly, kissing him over and over again while he attempts to catch his breath.

 

“Holy hell,” he breathes. “What—how did—huh?”

 

She giggles and burrows against his shoulder, one arm landing across his stomach.

 

“That was amazing,” she sighs. “And we didn’t even—“

 

“I know,” he agrees, voice tinged with a mystified kind of pride. “I can’t even tell you how long I’ve…how long I’ve wanted that.”

 

“Me too,” Jemma hums, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. “I just didn’t realize it, but I think it’s probably what I always wanted.”

 

“We always were better together,” he grins. She nods into his chest as his fingers dance through his hair.

 

“Imagine how good we’ll be at the real thing.”

 

Then he grimaces. “Speaking of…”

 

He gestures vaguely at his pants and she laughs, leaning back so that he can stand up. He grabs a new pair of boxers from his dresser and walks to the bathroom. While he’s gone, Jemma flops back onto his mattress and stares at the ceiling, overcome with satisfaction. If she’d known it would be this good, she’d have taken matters into her own hands _years_ ago.

 

When he returns, he stands nervously in the doorway, scratching at that same spot under his ear that she now knows makes him moan when she bites it.

 

“Can we, uh…can we talk?” he asks anxiously. She turns on her side, sitting up on one elbow and supporting her head with her palm.

 

“I figured you’d have questions,” she laughs. He licks his lips, eyes drifting over her bare body as he nods. She shivers under his gaze and his brow furrows and he reaches down to toss her a t-shirt from his floor.

 

“Are you cold?”

 

His pure _goodness_ makes her feel incredibly light and she nods, slipping it on. “I was a bit. So anyway, you have questions?”

 

“Yeah, I do. But also I feel like—I have something I need to tell you.”

 

He sits on the mattress beside her and she suddenly feels anxious herself. His knee bounces, a tell-tale sign that she may not like what he’s about to say. Part of her wants to yank him back on top of her and finish what they started, prevent him from detonating whatever bomb is about to occur, but the rational part of her knows that it won’t solve anything so she takes several calming breaths and waits for him to continue.

 

“I panicked, when Hill asked if we had any ongoing projects.”

 

Jemma sits up straighter and Fitz looks away from her expectant eyes. “Okay,” she says slowly. “So what’s the issue, Fitz?”

 

He gulps, still avoiding her gaze. “I—I signed a contract with Skye’s show.”

 

It’s like a bucket of ice water has been dropped over her head. All of the warm, tingling feeling inside of her is extinguished by his words, but she fights to stay optimistic. Their dreams came true today and they’d finally crossed _that_ line, the one they’d been playing jumprope with for years.

 

“Alright,” she says, voice trembling. “But you can get out of that, right?”

 

“I kind of can’t,” he croaks. “My signing that contract is the only reason the show didn’t get cancelled.”

 

“What the hell kind of contract did you sign?” she snaps. “Are you actually _on_ this show now?”

 

“It’s just a guest starring role!” he defends. “But it’s for the rest of the season, with the possibility for extension into next season.”

 

He drops his face into his hands.

 

“Jemma, I had no idea. They never give funding this quickly, there was no way for me to know that they would want to start production so quickly, and we still don’t even know if—“

 

Jemma laughs bitterly. “You’re telling me that you’re not going to back out?”

 

“I can’t!” he explodes. She sits up straight as he stands from the mattress, pacing in his boxers. “Jemma, I’ve been thinking this through all day and it will _ruin_ Skye’s career.”

 

“So just fuck mine right?” Jemma hisses. “That’s what you’re doing.”

 

“Please, Jemma, try to understand—“

 

“I understand perfectly Fitz!” she bursts, tears pooling in her eyes as she crawls off of the mattress and moves as far away from him as she can. “You _knew_ that you were about to pull the rug out from under me and you just let me—you let me—“

 

She can’t finish the sentence, voice breaking as the tears start spilling onto her cheeks.

 

“Jemma,” he pleads. She watches his resolve break and he moves desperately toward her, grabbing her against him and holding her there. “I’m so sorry, I gave them my word.”

 

She sobs into his shoulder for a moment, letting herself take in one more minute of his warmth before she pushes back against him and backs away, grabbing her jeans from the floor. She wriggles into them as quickly as possible, feeling absolutely absurd as she holds back her own sobs.

 

“You gave me your word too, Fitz,” she whispers. “What happened to whatever it takes?”

 

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen!” he begs. “You know that. I can’t lose you, Jemma, not again. I can’t.”

 

“You think I wanted any of this?” she shouts. He flinches at the sudden rise in volume. “I was perfectly content to just be your partner. Your friend. Then you tell me that I’m more than that while you’re _dying in my arms_ and nothing has been the same since, Fitz. _Nothing!”_

“You _are_ more than that.”

 

“But I’m still not _enough_ ,” she says as firmly as she can. “And what kind of person would I be, Fitz, if I asked you to destroy a perfectly nice woman’s career _for me?_ I’ve already got Oscars and awards and everything I need. There will be more projects and more opportunities, but this one was _ours.”_

His hands clench into fists at his sides, muscle in his jaw twitching as tears rush unchecked over his cheeks.

 

“You’ve put me in an impossible situation,” she whispers. “You’ve put _us_ in an impossible situation. And I can’t even look at you right now.”

 

She sweeps past him, grabbing her handbag from the hook on the hallway and bolting for the door. She hears it slam behind her and she blindly runs to her car, bare feet hardly registering the rough pavement beneath them. She turns the ignition and puts the car in drive before she can think twice or look back.


	8. Mimosas & Cupcakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz goes to Hunter for advice, and Bobbi and Jemma have their own system.

Hunter hands Bobbi a water bottle, smiling as she practically glows in the dim lighting of his shitty apartment. While he may be doing better than he was before, that doesn’t say much. Before, he’d been living on Izzy’s couch. To his surprise, world-travelling supermodel Bobbi Morse loved his tiny little box of an apartment, and preferred staying there rather than her own expansive penthouse in Los Angeles.

 

He’s about to open his mouth to tell her, once again, how she’s full of surprises, when he’s cut off by an incessant banging on his door. Groaning, he slips into some pants and foregoes the shirt.

 

“It’s probably Idaho,” he tells Bobbi. “Got too drunk and can’t find his way home again.”

 

He wrenches the door open, prepared to tell Idaho to go fuck himself, but his words die in his throat when he sees an extremely miserable Leo Fitz leaning against his door jam.

 

“I really messed it up this time,” Fitz mumbles. A flask dangles from his fingertips and Hunter’s eyebrows raise. Bobbi must hear his familiar accent because she’s fully dressed in record time. She appears as if from nowhere and guides Fitz into the apartment, sitting him down on the couch with concerned eyes.

 

“I have to be honest, Fitz, I thought she’d be the one to mess this up,” Bobbi tells him gently. Hunter goes to the fridge to rummage around for a drink for himself.

 

“No,” Fitz denies heatedly. “Jemma is _perfect.”_

“She’s not perfect, Fitz. Nobody is. Sometimes you have to take her off of that pedestal,” Bobbi advises.

 

“Hey, Bob, maybe you should head home and get some rest,” Hunter interrupts. She glares at him accusingly and he kisses her cheek. “You’re just a bit too invested in this, love. It might help to just—have some guy talk about it.”

 

Bobbi studies him carefully before grudgingly agreeing. She pecks his lips. “Call me tomorrow. See ya, Fitz. Don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

 

“I won’t,” Fitz promises. “It’s why I came here.”

 

She nods and ruffles his hair, shutting the door behind her.  

 

“She actually _wants_ me and I _lied_ to her,” Fitz moans pitifully, dropping his head into his hands. “Our project was pushed forward and Hill asked if we had anything in the works for the next few months cause we’d need to stay open, and I said I didn’t but I did. I signed a contract for Skye’s show for the rest of the season with the possibility of extension—“

 

Hunter sits heavily onto the desk chair that doubles as one of his “dining room” seats. “Why didn’t you just tell her to begin with?”

 

“I didn’t even mean to lie. Hill just put us on the spot. I really didn’t think there was any possibility of having the project greenlighted so quickly. That’s not even close to standard.”  

 

“Okay,” Hunter says slowly. “But you said that she wanted you and _then_ you lied to her. When exactly did you tell her the truth about this, Fitz?”

 

He swallows and fists his hands into his hair, causing Hunter to groan.

 

“You _slept with her_ and then told her the truth?!” Hunter gasps. “Even I know better than that.”

 

“We didn’t get that far but we—hooked up, yeah.”

 

Hunter makes a move to high-five him and then thinks better of it.

 

“Bobbi’s going to pissed,” Hunter warns. “She insisted you were still in love with Simmons, but I knew there was something weird going on with you and Skye—“

 

“There’s nothing going on with me and Skye!” Fitz shouts. “She’s my friend, and she needed my help.”

 

“How did Jemma take it?” 

 

Fitz gulps. “She started crying and she said she can’t ask me to back out of this contract because it’ll destroy Skye’s career. Then she left.”

 

His voice cracks and he palms at his eyes to stop the burning before he lifts his flask to his lips and takes a long pull. Hunter claps his hands and rubs them together.

 

“Alright, Fitzy, let’s get working. How are we gonna fix this?”

 

Fitz looks up at him, gobsmacked. “What?”

 

“I’ve committed my fair share of fuck-ups,” Hunter smirks. “And I’ve become quite adept at the art of groveling. What do you usually do when you upset her?”

 

It takes a moment for his brain to catch up to the conversation. “I usually give her two days to cool down, then I call her and we talk it out.”

 

Hunter considers this but ultimately rejects it. “That’s not going to work this time. This time you’ve gotten…physical, if you know what I mean.”

 

Fitz rolls his eyes. “Obviously I know what you mean.”

 

“So here’s what you do,” Hunter says, leaning forward on his elbows. “You get some sleep, and first thing in the morning, you go over there and you make her listen.”

 

“There’s nothing to make her listen to,” Fitz mumbles, collapsing face-first onto the ratty couch cushions. He inhales sharply and sits straight back up.

 

Hunter grimaces. “Yeah, you do _not_ want to put your face on that.”

 

“I don’t want to know.”

 

Hunter grins. “Yeah, you really don’t. Alright, so if there’s nothing you can say to her that you haven’t already, let’s kick around some solutions, yeah?”

 

“There is no solution!” Fitz exclaims, throwing his hands up. “That’s the whole point, Hunter.”

 

“There’s always a solution,” Hunter argues. “I don’t know much about all of these Hollyweird madness, but I do know a thing or two about getting out of a deal.”

 

“If I back out of the contract with Skye’s show, it’ll be cancelled. The network made it clear that it’s only finishing out the season if I’m guest starring.”

 

Hunter narrows his eyes pensively, taking a long swig from his beer. “Right. So what’s the deal with this new project of yours? The one with Jemma?”

 

“They’re trying to box out a different movie and then shift their funding to us. We’d start pre-production in a couple of months…”

 

Hunter puts his beer down and raises his hands in triumph. “So you film the entire show before pre-production starts! Problem solved!”

 

Fitz laughs humorlessly. “That’s not exactly how it works, Hunter.”

 

“If you’re really the only thing keeping this show alive, they’ll do what it takes to keep you on it,” Hunter reasons. “Throw your weight around! You’re Leo fucking Fitz!”

 

Fitz takes a deep breath, rolling the idea around in his mind. “You might actually be onto something.”

 

Hunter beams. “Told you, I’m an expert.”

 

“I wouldn’t exactly say that…”

 

“Oi! I helped save your arse!” Hunter crows.

 

“Maybe,” Fitz clarifies. “Possibly. I’m still not sure if it’ll work, but I’ll see if Phil can meet me tomorrow and figure it out.”

 

“Are you gonna let Skye know?” Hunter asks. “Maybe she can help.”

 

Fitz flinches and rubs his hand on the back of his neck. “She’s going to be so mad. She looks up to Jemma so much and she _really_ wants to be friends with her.”

 

Hunter snorts. “Well, looks like you’ve made that quite hard for her.”

 

“Ha, ha,” Fitz says dryly, pulling out his phone to send an email to Phil. “Now this groveling you talked about…what’s your best move? I’m gonna need to pull out all the stops.”

 

Hunter grins. “Alright, here’s your first move…”

 

***

 

Jemma wakes up with a pounding head and sore eyes. For a moment, she forgets the events of the previous evening and assumes that she’s had too much to drink. Then it all crashes back down and she recalls that this is not an alcohol hangover and is instead a symptom of the amount she’d cried.

 

This has happened far too many times in the last several weeks. Widget makes a little whining noise, scratching at the duvet near Jemma’s knees. She groans, reaching a hand out toward her dog and weakly petting her head.

 

“Come on, Jemma,” Bobbi’s voice says from the doorway. “We’re going for brunch.”

 

Jemma sits up, glaring at her chipper friend. “You’ve got to be bloody joking.”

 

Bobbi rolls her eyes, sitting at the foot of the bed and crossing her legs. “You and Fitz might have your little system, but so do you and I. Whenever I’m upset because of some boy, you come over with weird British snacks and we binge watch romantic comedies.”

 

“Only so you can yell at the screen,” Jemma points out. Bobbi nods.

 

“Yes, because everyone in those movies are stupid. And whenever _you_ are upset some boy, we go to brunch and you have one too many mimosas and then we go for a long boozy walk through Griffith Park. It’s the system. And we’re doing it.”

 

“This isn’t some boy,” Jemma pouts. “This is Fitz. And how do you even know about this anyway?”

 

“Fitz showed up at Hunter’s last night,” Bobbi explains. Jemma’s eyes pop wide open. “What? Apparently they’re way closer than I thought they were.”

 

Jemma rolls her eyes. “Can’t let me have anything for myself.”

 

She storms over to her closet and starts yanking clothes off of hangers, unseeingly tossing them onto the floor. Bobbi sits back and watches, arms crossed.

 

“Just put something on,” Bobbi complains. Jemma huffs and turns around with narrowed eyes.

 

“Aren’t you supposed to feel sorry for me or something?”

 

Bobbi smiles smugly. “You picked the wrong best friend for that. Get dressed. We’ll bring Widge.”

 

Jemma gives in, slipping on a blouse and some jeans before turning to her vanity to put on some makeup. She whimpers in agitation at the sight of her neck.

 

“No, no, no,” she mumbles. “Come _on.”_

Bobbi bites down hard on her bottom lip to keep from laughing. She really does feel for her friend’s predicament, but she’s also been waiting for something to happen between Jemma and Fitz for so long. Besides, she’d never seen Fitz as the hot-and-heavy type.

 

“Let me help,” Bobbi offers. “This is like, Model 101. The amount of times I’ve had to hide a hickey right before a shoot…”

 

It takes nearly 20 minutes to fully cover the mark, but Bobbi steps back from her handwork with a pleased smile and practically frog marches Jemma to her car, Widget tucked happily under her arm. They pull up to the small restaurant that has become their usual breakfast spot over the past several years and Jemma immediately dons her sunglasses. Having Widget means that they have to sit out on the patio, but the host gives them a small table in the far corner that keeps them largely out of view from the street.

 

Bobbi immediately orders a pitcher of mimosas and turns to Jemma expectantly.

 

“Alright. What happened? All I heard from Hunter was that Fitz fucked up, big time.”

 

“I kissed him,” Jemma blurts out. “And it was perfect, and amazing, and we did some—some other things, too. All of which were—beyond satisfactory.”

 

“Oh good God,” Bobbi murmurs, smiling gratefully at the mimosas that get dropped on the table. She pours each of them a large glass. “Eventually you have to stop evaluating your sex life like a yelp review.”

 

Jemma huffs. “Are you going to take me seriously or not, _Barbara?”_

“Alright, fine,” Bobbi relents, raising her hands. “I’m sorry. Continue, please.”

 

“Good. Well, after…the business…he told me that he needed to talk to me. I said that he probably had questions, assuming that it was because of…said business.”

 

Bobbi has to physically restrain herself from groaning at Jemma’s phrasing. The pinkness of her friend’s cheeks is the only thing that keeps her in line. When Jemma’s eyes start to tear up, all humor drains from the situation.

 

“Then he told me that he’d lied in our meeting with Hill,” Jemma says, voice cracking on the words. She downs most of her glass and finishes. “He signed a contract with Skye’s show for the rest of the season. He can’t back out or her show will most certainly be cancelled and her career will practically be dead. But he also can’t do our project, now.”

 

Bobbi exhales loudly. “Wow, that’s…I just assumed you guys had some really bad sex, or he said something stupid. I didn’t think it was about your jobs.”

 

Jemma laughs bitterly. “I wouldn’t have thought so either. Our craft, our work…it was always sacred. A lie like this changes everything.”

 

“It couldn’t have been intentional—“

 

“I know it wasn’t,” Jemma interrupts. “But it hurts just the same. He was trying to help Skye and I understand that. If I asked him to break the contract with the show, I think he probably would do it, but how could I ever live with myself if I put Skye and all of those people’s jobs in jeopardy? Don’t I have enough already?”

 

Bobbi reaches across the table and squeezes Jemma’s hand. “After all these years, you’re still one of the only good ones in this city.”

 

Jemma gives her a sad little smile, raising her glass. “To finishing last.”

 

Bobbi snorts. “Alright, Three Oscars.”

 

Jemma rolls her eyes and chugs the rest of her mimosa, immediately pouring another one. Bobbi watches in approval, sipping slowly at her own. Someone’s gotta drive.

 

“What does this mean for you and Fitz?” Bobbi asks after they order their food.

 

“Truthfully, I’ve no idea,” Jemma sighs. “It’s all just so _complicated._ If he’d just been honest in our meeting with Hill, then we might have been able to work something out, but now…I don’t think any studio will take this project. Not after our fallout with Hand and now Hill.”

 

“He loves you,” Bobbi tells her simply, after a long moment. Jemma flinches and then nods.

 

“I know he does,” she acknowledges quietly. “I suppose he and I are just built to tear each other apart.”

 

“That’s not true!” Bobbi denies. “You two have something so special.”

 

“Two years ago, I would have believed you,” Jemma shoots back. “But that was before. Before what happened with his mum and his sister, and then his incident, and me leaving to do Hydra—“

 

“You learned that you can live without each other,” Bobbi cuts her off. “But you also learned that maybe you don’t want to. At this point your biggest issue with each other is professional, not personal. That’s so much further than where you were after Hydra.”

 

Jemma shakes her head. “This might be a professional issue, but it feels _very_ personal. Hand offered to let me do the film with another partner and I should have taken it.”

 

Bobbi’s eyes widen. “You don’t mean that.”

 

“I do,” Jemma bites out. Bobbi appraises the empty glass in her hand. _Ah, she’s reached angry drunk._ “He’d have deserved it the first time and he certainly deserves it this time. Perhaps I ought to replace him with Will bloody Daniels.”

 

Bobbi lets the words hang over them for a long moment before she responds. “I know for a _fact_ you don’t mean that. The Jemma Simmons I know would never intentionally hurt Fitz.”

 

Jemma deflates. “You’re right. I’m just so…”

 

She trails off, unable to place the feeling burning in all of her nerves. Bobbi tilts her head to the side, studying her.

 

“Angry?”

 

Jemma shakes her head so slightly that Bobbi nearly misses it, her hazel eyes unfocused.

 

“No. _Hurt._ It just _hurts_ and I want to take it all back. I finally gave in, after years of telling people that they were wrong about the two of us. It felt so right, Bobbi. And the whole time he _knew_ that he was going to drop this huge bomb on me and he didn’t say anything.”

 

Part of Bobbi wants to point out that Fitz was probably very distracted by the love of his life throwing herself at him, but she knows this isn’t the moment. Instead, she lets Jemma vent and then allows her to change the subject when she tires of discussing it. The issue quite obviously remains in the back of Jemma’s mind, and her participation in further conversation is rather strained. They eat and Jemma continues to drink at Bobbi’s urging until Jemma is sufficiently buzzed. By the time they leave the restaurant, Jemma’s smile looks as close to genuine as she thinks it’ll get, given the circumstances. She has Jemma wait for the car while she runs into the cupcake shop next door. When she asks the girl behind the counter to inscribe a cupcake with the words _Fuck Him,_ she almost gets a “no” until the manager behind her recognizes Bobbi’s face and gets it done himself.

 

Jemma is waiting in the front seat of the car, babbling to Widget, when Bobbi slides into the front seat. The dog sniffs curiously at the small box in Bobbi’s lap and she bats her away, dropping the box in the back seat as she sets off for Griffith Park.

 

“There’s this script that I really like,” Jemma says suddenly as they pull into the park. “Fitz hates it, doesn’t want to do it at all. But if he’s going to be preoccupied with Skye’s show, maybe I should just do what I want to do for once.”

 

Bobbi looks at her in surprise. “Wow. I mean, it might not be a bad idea. Don’t you think you should at least try to talk to him first though?”

 

Jemma shrugs apathetically as she sets Widget on the ground, watching her dog trot happily on the grass. “I’ll have to see how long the offer is even on the table. They might not want me without Fitz, anyhow.”

 

“Of course they will,” Bobbi scoffs. “You’re Jemma fucking Simmons. You and Fitz are awesome together but you’re just as awesome on your own. You should know that by now.”

 

Jemma tightens her grib on Widget’s leash. “It’s hard to remember sometimes. We’re so linked together—one name and everything.”

 

“I wonder what the tabloids would have done if your last names were less compatible?”

 

Jemma laughs. “It’s so funny, isn’t it? How easily they mash together. What do they call you and Hunter, again?”

 

“I’ve seen Hobbi floating around,” Bobbi giggles. “Doesn’t have the same flow to it.”

 

Bobbi throws an arm around Jemma’s shoulders and squeezes.

 

“You’re gonna be alright, Simmons. You’re both good kids.”

 

“You’re _barely_ older than us,” Jemma protests, shoving her back playfully.

 

“Do you think he’s gonna stick to the system?”

 

“I think so,” Jemma sighs. “But at the same time, I don’t know if that applies to this situation. We’ve never…done the business before.”

 

“Oh my _God!”_ Bobbi shouts, half-laughing. “Stop calling it that, Jemma! Just call it what it was!”

 

“Which is what, exactly?!” Jemma shoots back, her own voice rising in amused indignation. “Dry humping to completion?!”   


Bobbi gasps, hands flying to her mouth to smother her simultaneously horrified and excited giggles. Jemma’s face flames with mortified heat as her eyes dart around for any paparazzi.

 

“I can’t believe I just said that in a public place.”

 

“And so loudly,” Bobbi teases. She’s still gasping for breath and Jemma rolls her eyes, collapsing onto a bench and patting the seat next to her.

 

“Catch your breath,” Jemma jokes. “Take however long you need.”

 

“This is just too much for me,” Bobbi gasps out. She reaches into her purse and holds out the little cupcake box. “I mean, I guess this has a bit of a double meaning now.”

 

She opens the lid and reveals it to Jemma, who immediately loses it, spluttering and laughing at the icing. Not for the first time that day, Jemma feels incredibly fortunate to have met Bobbi Morse, and it only strengthens her resolve not to ask Fitz to abandon Skye’s project. No matter how devastated she feels, it’s an issue between herself and Fitz, and she refuses to hold it against Skye.

 

“This should be the new tradition,” Bobbi declares. “We’ll add a fuck-him-cupcake to the system.”

 

“Agreed,” Jemma concedes. “It makes a lovely addition.”

 

A couple of older women speed-walk by on the trail, chatting loudly.

 

“I think I saw Leo Fitz in the parking lot!” one basically shouts.

 

“It was definitely him,” her friend agrees. “I wonder who he’s meeting, dressed up like that.”

 

Jemma turns with dinner-plate eyes to her best friend. “You don’t actually think—“

 

Bobbi looks around wildly. “He _does_ know our system.”

 

“But he’s never interrupted the system!” Jemma argues. “He understands the sanctity of my many systems!”

 

“You’ve very passionate about systems,” Bobbi tries to placate. “Plus, you know how people can be. They think everyone in L.A. is a celebrity, it was probably just wishful thinking.”

 

Jemma takes a calming breath in through her nose and exhales. “You’re right. That has to be it. Fitz doesn’t do that sort of thing. He’s not impulsive.”

 

Bobbi makes an unsure voice in the back of her throat, holding her hand up and wiggling it like a teeter totter. “He kind of is. Just a little bit, especially when he’s upset.”

 

Bobbi stops talking suddenly, her jaw dropping and eyes blowing open. Jemma stiffens.

 

“Bobbi, no,” Jemma moans. “Don’t tell me he’s…”

 

“Fitz is running right at us,” Bobbi tells her remorsefully. She snatches Widget’s leash out of Jemma’s hand. “I should—me and Widget should just take a little stroll.”

 

“Bobbi, I swear to God—“

 

“Do I take the fuck-him-cupcake?” Bobbi hisses in a panic. “I think I’m supposed to take it. Oh God, too late.”

 

Bobbi turns on her heels and yanks Widget along with her as she practically jogs away from her. Jemma spins around and finds Fitz in front of her, hands on his knees as he catches his breath. He’s wearing a grey suit with a white linen shirt and a nice tie, one of her favorite looks on him.

 

It makes absolutely no sense for Fitz to be so well-dressed on a Saturday, especially in the very early afternoon, and she bites down hard on her lip to prevent her from commenting on it.

 

“Jemma,” he gasps. “Jemma, please don’t walk away.”

 

He straightens, hands on his hips as he pants. Her mind automatically goes back to the previous night, when she’d taken his breath for a completely different reason. His tongue darts out to lick his lips, brow furrowed in desperation, and she swallows hard.

 

She takes a deep breath and counts down from three, telling herself that once she reaches one, she’ll make her choice.

 

_Three…_

_Two…_

_One._

 


	9. 72 Hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma and Fitz deal with the fall-out of his mistakes. In the meantime, Jemma and Skye have some one-on-one time and Jemma reconsiders her convictions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day--as you can tell I have NO chill when it comes to this story, and I just don't have it in me to leave everyone with a big cliffhanger.

Jemma plants her feet and shoves her hands into the back pockets of her jeans, forcing herself to look him in the eyes. She’s momentarily distracted by the small bruise peeking out from the collar of his shirt, and he seems to notice her gaze because he shyly reaches up to touch the mark she’d left on him.

 

“This isn’t the system,” she reminds him quietly.

 

“I’ve fixed it,” Fitz practically bursts. He glances toward the bench beside her and blinks. “Does that cupcake say Fuck Him on it?”

 

“Yes,” Jemma confirms, a bit agitated. “It’s a new part of the system. So you’ve fixed it. Have you invented a time machine, then?”

 

“No,” Fitz huffs. “I spoke to the producers of Skye’s show, and they’ve agreed to film all of my scenes within the next few weeks. There may be some days where I’d have to go in and shoot, but not for more than a few hours. We can work our production schedule around it.”

 

He looks unbelievably proud of himself but also incredibly nervous as he delivers the good news. Jemma’s lips flicker up into a ghost of a smile.

 

“That’s very good, Fitz.”

 

The excitement seems to drain from his body as he carefully watches her, taking a tentative step closer. “You don’t seem very happy.”

 

“I’m not,” she admits honestly. A muscle twitches in his jaw.

 

“Why? I’ve fixed it, Jemma. Best of both worlds.”

 

“You fixed the _scheduling problem,”_ Jemma corrects before gesturing wildly between the two of them. “You haven’t fixed _this.”_

“That’s the problem here!” Fitz denies, a bit angrily. “I double-booked myself, but now it’s all fixed and we can move on. We can do our project, isn’t that the whole point?”

 

Jemma sighs heavily in disappointment, fingers reaching up to rub her face. “It’s more than that, though, isn’t it?”

 

Fitz gulps and steps into her space, trying to force her to look at him. “Is this about—about last night?”

 

Her eyes snap up to stare at him. “Kind of. I don’t know. Maybe.”

 

He throws his hands up. “What do you want from me? I just showed up at a fucking producer’s house on a Saturday morning to get this all squared away. I did that for _you_.”

 

“You wouldn’t have had to do that if you didn’t mess up. You don’t get to be mad at me,” Jemma insists. “This isn’t about the project, Fitz, it’s about the fact that you lied to me. You’re always hiding things from me these days. There’s always something else cooking and I just sit here like a fool waiting for the other shoe to drop!”

 

He deflates again, voice thickening with tears. “Then why did you kiss me last night, if this is how you feel?”

 

_Because I love you. Because I always have. Because you’ve grown to be so handsome and strong and kind. Because I can’t stand you. Because you drive me crazy. Because you’re my Fitz._

All of these options nearly spill from her lips but instead, she says, “I can’t do this right now. You shouldn’t have come here.”  

 

She pivots on her heel, prepared to leave, but he tugs her back into a rather forceful hug. Her arms remain stubbornly at her sides for a long moment despite the overwhelming instinct to hug him back. He releases a shaky breath against her neck that softens her, and she gives in to her impulse to wrap her arms around him.

 

“I just need some time,” she murmurs into his shoulder. “I need to think.”

 

He pulls away, nodding solemnly. “Okay. I can—okay, I can do that.”

 

She swallows down a lump in her throat and continues. “This doesn’t mean I’m through with you, okay? I need you to understand that.”

 

He rubs at the back of his neck with a bitter little laugh. “I really wish you didn’t always have to comfort me when I fuck up.”

 

“Me too,” Jemma says candidly. She catches a glimmer of surprise in his eyes at her admission, and even she is a little surprised by her honesty. “But that’s the way things are for us. You’d think we’d be used to it by now.”

 

Fitz scoffs. “I don’t think I’ll ever be used to this.”

 

Jemma smirks. “Do you ever wonder what it would have been like, if one of us hadn’t gotten the part in Chemistry?”

 

“Sometimes,” he shrugs. “I try not to. Hard to imagine Raina as my partner.”

 

Jemma laughs at the image and he gives her a cautious little smile. “She’d eat you alive.”

 

“I could hold my own,” he argues half-heartedly. She rolls her eyes and steps forward to give his hand a squeeze.

 

“I’m really glad you sorted things out,” Jemma tells him. “And of course we’ll still be working together.”

 

“We just won’t be—in touch for a while, hm?”

 

Jemma shakes her head. “Unless it’s about the project, I’d rather—I need this. I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t apologize,” he says gruffly. “You’re always apologizing for things that aren’t your fault.”

 

There’s an added weight to his words and she stiffens. She wonders how long it’ll take before the ache of guilt goes away; she’s not sure it ever will.

 

“Not always,” she responds in a clipped tone.

 

His eyes drift to Bobbi in the distance, where she leans against a tree with her phone to her ear, presumably gossiping with Hunter.

 

“We’ll always disagree on this one. One day I’ll wear you down.”

 

Jemma clears her throat pointedly. “I’m gonna head back to Bobbi. I’ll talk to you soon.”

 

He gives her hand one last squeeze and then she grabs her cupcake, walking away. She can feel his eyes on her back the entire trek toward Bobbi, and she does her best to keep her shoulders from collapsing inward with the sobs that want to fight their way out of her chest. Bobbi hangs up on Hunter as soon as Jemma is near and falls right into step beside her. She turns around to look at Fitz, who sits on the bench with his elbows on his knees. He looks up and meets Bobbi’s eyes, giving her a sad little smile. She returns it and leads Jemma back to her car.

 

Bobbi doesn’t ask what happened. Jemma doesn’t tell her.

 

***

 

She almost forgets about her promise to Skye until her phone buzzes at 9 a.m. on Tuesday morning with a text from her.

 

[ _Skye]: Hi Jemma! Sorry to keep bugging you, but are you still free to come by today? My audition is tomorrow and I’m sorta freaking out. Totally understand if you can’t, just lemme know._

Jemma shuts down her treadmill and sighs, typing a quick text back to let Skye know she’s still available and will meet her at 11 at her apartment. She knows, of course, that her fallout with Fitz isn’t Skye’s fault, but a tiny part of her still blames the other woman for it.

 

It’s easier than blaming herself or even Fitz.

 

Pictures of their talk at Griffith Park had been plastered all over gossip sites and tabloids for the last several days, and it made her sick to her stomach. As a rule, she’d taken to avoiding all media, practically camping out in her house with some books and her dog. Bobbi and Hunter had come over the night before to watch a movie, which had quickly turned into a drinking game. Her head still aches with the consequences of it.

 

Today, she’ll have to face the music. She made Skye a promise, and she remembers with vivid clarity how difficult her first major auditions had been. Even after receiving an Oscar, she’d been terrified. It had almost made things worse. The people on the other side of the table expected greatness from her, and it often felt like she couldn’t possibly deliver.

 

Jemma takes a quick shower and blows out her hair, going through the motions of her basic beauty routine with very little awareness. She adds a bit of extra contouring to her face makeup and agonizes over her outfit. There will most definitely be photographers at the end of her driveway, and undoubtedly they will follow her to Skye’s apartment.

 

It’s not even really about saving face, so much as it is about Fitz seeing that she’s okay. Someone had snapped a photo of him two days before, having lunch with Phil at the Beverly Hills Hotel. On the surface, he’d looked wonderful, but Jemma knew him better than that. A close examination of the photo showed her that he hadn’t been sleeping very well. She hadn’t been, either, but she didn’t want him to know that.

 

No amount of anger or hurt can block out her urge to protect him from everything, and most especially from herself.

 

She settles on a perfectly tailored pair of blue jeans, some black flats, and a light blue t-shirt that shows just the right amount of her lacy black bralette.

 

“What do you think, Widge?” she asks her dog. Widget rolls onto her back for a belly-rub and Jemma laughs, bending down to give her a quick pat. “Your approval is noted.”

 

Gathering her things, she foregoes her larger sunglasses in favor of simple Ray Bans. She doesn’t want to look like she’s hiding, even though she would very much prefer to burrow into her duvet for the next several weeks. She squares her shoulders like she’s charging into battle and heads out to her car.

 

Just as she expected, a flock of photographers blocks her way out of the gate at the bottom of her driveway. She inches through them, schooling her expression into a neutral one. She gives a particularly ballsy one a sarcastic wave as she clicks on her GPS. The cool robotic voice leads her to Skye’s apartment, which is nearly thirty minutes from her house. It takes her a while to find street parking, and in that time, the photographers have found her once again. By the time she gets out of her car, they’ve surrounded her.

 

_“Jemma, where’s Fitz?”_

_“Jemma, is it true that you’ve backed out of your latest project?”_

_“Over here!”_

_“Jemma, got a sec?”_

She ignores them all, giving them a benign smile in lieu of any commentary, and quickly types in the four digit code that Skye provided for her on the key-pad. The door snaps shut behind her and she sighs in relief, pushing her sunglasses on top of her head and pushing the button for the 6th floor per the other girl’s instructions.

 

When she knocks on #604, Skye is at the door in less than 10 seconds. She smiles eagerly.

 

“Hi Jemma! Thank you so much for coming. Seriously, you’re a life saver.”

 

“It’s not a problem,” Jemma says genuinely. “Although I do apologize for showing the paparazzi where you live.”

 

Skye laughs. “For a newbie like me, that’s actually not a bad thing. At least not according to my agent.”

 

Jemma crinkles her nose. “Just wait, you’ll grow to hate it.”

 

“I’m sure,” Skye says agreeably, handing her a stack of papers. “So here’s the sides for the audition, if you want to read them over. I can’t figure out what look I should have. This character is like an unsalted cracker, so I really don’t know how to stand out.”

 

Jemma chuckles, reading over the character description and glancing at the lines provided. “If anyone can make an unsalted cracker charming, it’s you.”

 

Skye blushes happily under Jemma’s praise. “Can I get you something to drink?”

 

“Just some water would be lovely,” Jemma requests, glancing up only briefly from the notes in front of her. “I know this is going to sound very counterintuitive, but you should play her like—a hardass.”

 

Skye blinks, walking back to the couch with two bottles of water. “A hardass?”

 

“Everyone is going to play this girl like your character on television,” Jemma explains. “Quirky and cutesy. They already know that you can do that, and they may ask you to try it again in that style, but these lines don’t have to be read awkwardly. There’s a lot of pausing, sure, but that pausing can be strong silence rather than flimsy.”

 

Skye cocks an eyebrow. “Seriously? It kinda feels like they want a powdered donut of a person.”

 

Jemma smiles knowingly. “They _do._ And they may still ask you to do that. But do you remember my character in Chemistry?”

 

Skye snorts. “Of course I do. Fitz and I literally _just_ watched that a few days ago.”

 

Jemma feels a slight stab at her stomach, but ignores it. “Alright, well, the sides for that role read a lot like this on the first go-around. She was smart, but awkward. Geeky, but still pretty. And here’s how I played it.”

 

Jemma stands, clearing her throat and straightening the papers in her hands. She nods at Skye to read the male role, and she obliges.

 

“Woah, in a rush?” Skye asks in an overly deep imitation of a man’s voice.

Jemma resists the urge to giggle and reads the part. Rather than the breathy, giggly tone of a lovestruck teenager, she adopts an unimpressed American accent.

 

“Yeah, actually.”

 

Skye blinks before reading her next line. “Where are you heading to? I can carry your stuff.”

 

“That’s…fine, I guess,” Jemma says slowly. “I’m going to the physics building.”

 

“Physics, huh? Brains and beauty…”

 

The script calls for a beat of silence while the girl looks up at the boy in surprise. Rather than interpreting that surprise as awestruck, Jemma shoots Skye a disproving once-over.

 

“Most people just call it brains,” Jemma drawls. “I think I can actually take it from here.”

 

Skye bursts into excited applause. “Wow. I just got a private Jemma Simmons performance in my living room.”

 

Jemma does a teasing little curtsy. “They might still ask you to play the unsalted cracker or the powdered donut, but try giving them crunchy crisp first. At the very least, you’ll stand out from the fifteen or so other girls reading right before you.”

 

Skye laughs. “You’ve really latched onto this food analogy.”

 

Jemma grins. “And don’t wear anything too prep-school. I’d go with the kind of thing you usually wear. A cut-off flannel vest over a Henley and some dark jeans. Play this girl a little more on the artsy punk side. I’m telling you, they’ll remember you. For the callback I might have you do something different, but for a first read, this is the ticket.”

 

Skye’s eyes widen. “For the callback? You’ll keep helping me?”

 

Jemma smiles softly. “Of course I will. I’m invested now.”

 

There’s a long pause of semi-awkward silence while Jemma lifts her water to her lips and Skye stares at her, a bit starstruck.

 

“I’m sorry if I gave you the impression that I didn’t like you, before,” Jemma explains in halted, awkward speech. “It’s just that…I…”

 

“Didn’t really like me?” Skye teases. Jemma opens her mouth to protest but doesn’t have it in her to lie. She nods sheepishly.

 

“I’ve seen a lot of women in your position take advantage of Fitz. It’s nothing against you, I’ve just become accustomed to a certain way of viewing the world.”

 

Skye smirks understandingly. “You sound like my uncle. Phil.”

 

Jemma’s brow furrows. “Phil…Coulson?”

 

Skye nods. “That’s actually how I met Fitz. Phil thinks she’s so slick, he sent Fitz to some party just to ‘accidentally’ bump into me, but Fitz is a surprisingly bad actor off-screen.”

 

Jemma reels with this new information. “Yeah, no, he is. So your entire friendship was a…set-up?”

 

Skye laughs bitterly. “My show was tanking and I wouldn’t accept Phil’s help. I wouldn’t let him represent me, either. He’s not actually my uncle, he just volunteered at the Boys and Girls Club when I was in foster care.”

 

Jemma feels herself rapidly softening to the young woman in front of her. “You wanted to get it on your own. I understand that.”

 

“Exactly. But then the show’s ratings were fucking horrible, and Phil sent in Fitz as like, an undercover friend. At first I was just kind of annoyed, but he turned out to be really cool, and it seemed like he genuinely wanted to help. There’s not a lot of people like that out here.”

 

“Does Fitz know that you know?” Jemma asks curiously, ignoring the flutter in her gut at the thought of Fitz trying his best to help out someone in need. She also knows how indebted he feels to his manager, and it doesn’t shock her in the slightest that he did as Phil asked. What _does_ give her a little jolt is that he hadn’t told her about it.

 

“I called him on it pretty early,” Skye laughs. “Phil doesn’t realize that I know, though. I’m keeping it that way, until I really wanna fuck with him. Honestly, I had kind of hoped he’d send you, if that was the route he was gonna take.”

 

“Me?” Jemma asks doubtfully. Skye scoffs in disbelief.

 

“Um, yeah. Are you freaking kidding me? You’re Jemma Simmons. You’re seriously the reason I wanted to be an actress in the first place. I saw Chemistry when I was in a rough place as a teenager, and then Phil would talk about how cool you were in real life. I wanted to be someone like that. Someone who could leave her own body and her own life but still be so _real._ Plus, you’d make a way better guest star. Even though I’m technically the show’s lead, I’m always just someone’s love interest. I’m pretty bored of it.”

 

Jemma’s cheeks flush at the multitude of compliments in Skye’s statement. “Wow. I had no idea. Lord knows they wouldn’t have gone the actual _interesting_ direction and made _me_ your love interest.”

 

Skye splutters out a shocked laugh at Jemma’s sly statement. “Jemma Simmons!”

 

Jemma shrugs. “I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors. Some of them are true.”

 

Skye giggles, crossing her legs under herself. “I’m really happy that you’re here, and willing to help me.”

 

Jemma nods supportively. “Once I realized you were genuine, I really couldn’t have anything against you. And I truly am sorry if I came off harsh before.”

 

Skye shrugs her off. “I totally get it. But um, can I ask you something? It’s about Fitz.”

 

She inhales a sharp breath and nods weakly. “Sure. I can’t promise that I’ll answer it.”

 

Skye seems to appreciate the honesty and ploughs on anyway. “That’s fine. Is he okay? He’s been acting really weird the last few days. I’m kind of worried about him.”

 

Jemma’s heart skips a beat at the thought of Fitz truly not being okay—last time that had happened, of course, he’d died in her arms. “How do you mean?”

 

“He’s slow to respond, doesn’t really want to go out and do anything…”

 

Jemma licks her lips and decides to continue her new policy of absolute candor with the girl across the room. “He and I had a bit of a falling out. We’re only speaking on professional terms right now.”

 

Skye’s eyes widen. “Oh, God. I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t have—I had no idea. He didn’t tell me.”

 

“I’m not surprised. He’s not one for sharing, when it comes to the things that really matter,” Jemma says quietly, picking at the fabric of her top. She swallows hard, fighting against the burning in her eyes. When she glances back up, Skye is sitting right in front of her, pulling her in for a warm hug. Jemma freezes for a moment and then slowly returns the embrace.

 

“I’m so sorry,” Skye murmurs into her hair. “I’m sure you two will work things out. You care about each other so much.”

 

It makes Jemma want to cry all over again. Rather than telling her that they’re FitzSimmons or making a comment about their careers and all that they’ve been through together, Skye manages to boil it right down to the root; they care about each other _so much,_ so much so that it often hurts.

 

“We do,” Jemma hums in agreement, resting her face on Skye’s shoulder. “Sometimes that makes our professional lives that much more difficult.”

 

Skye shoots backward to stare at her. “This isn’t because of my show, is it?”

 

Jemma suddenly wishes she could rescind all of her previous honesty. She’d love to have the grit to lie right now, but her defenses are weakened and she finds herself revealing the truth with just one look. “Our project was nearly derailed for a second time because of it. That’s why he’s going to be filming your show so quickly. I’m sure your writers are quite displeased.”

 

Skye scoffs. “Are you kidding? He saved their jobs. They’d do anything for him. But I can’t believe he didn’t tell me that. I never would have asked him to sign that contract if I thought it would fuck up your movie. He never shuts up about how badly he wants to get funding for it.”

 

Another small twinge shoots through her gut. “It was his decision to make, I guess. It should be proper now, but he lied to me about it and could have cost us the whole project. He’s lucky that your producers and writers were so willing to accommodate him.”

 

Skye leans back, out of Jemma’s personal space, and crosses her arms. “I hope you gave him your worst.”

 

Jemma snorts. “I suppose I did. After I gave him my best, if you know what I mean.”

 

“No!” Skye gasps. “You guys hooked up?”

 

Jemma shakes her head in shock. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this.”

 

“I won’t say anything, I promise,” Skye assures her, reaching out to give her arm a quick squeeze. “I’m gonna fucking kill him, Simmons.”

 

Jemma barks out a laugh. “No, please don’t. He could really use a friend right now.”

 

Skye softens slightly. “Always looking out for him, aren’t you?”

 

Jemma smiles a bit brokenly. “I do my best. Sometimes it’s not enough though.”

 

Skye sighs heavily, rolling her head backward and staring at the ceiling for a long moment. “Wow. You two really have something crazy. Like, Veronica Mars.”

 

“Veronica what?”

 

“Y’know, Veronica and Logan. _I thought our story was epic, you and me. Spanning years and continents. Lives ruined, bloodshed, EPIC._ Have you really never seen Veronica Mars?”

 

Jemma shakes her head. “I have not, but I’m going to assume you’ve seen it _many_ times.”

 

“Of course I have. You should really watch it, I think you’d love it.”

 

Jemma ruminates on Skye’s earlier words. “Do you really think Fitz and I have something like that?”

 

“Of course you do,” Skye responds immediately. “Are you kidding me? Everyone can see that.”

 

Jemma hums absently, staring out of Skye’s window at the photographers milling on the sidewalk. Her affection for the girl beside her swells suddenly, overtaking her gut and possessing her to make a sudden invitation.

 

“Hey, I’m going to this party for one of Bobbi’s magazine covers or whatever. You should come with me. Like, as my plus one. It’ll be a lot of fun,” Jemma rambles. Just as Fitz has often struggled to make male friends, she has a similar struggle connecting with women. Bobbi’s charm and persistence was the only reason they ever connected.

 

Skye beams. “Really? I’d love to. That sounds amazing.”

 

“It’s for GQ, I think. I could probably use your help doing up a sex-bomb look.”

 

“Oh please,” Skye scoffs. “You’re a sex bomb in a fancy British package. Like—old Hollywood Peggy Carter style.”

 

Jemma smiles indulgently. “You really are quite sweet.”

 

Skye flashes a little wink and moves toward her bedroom. “I’m telling you, you woulda made a way better love interest than Fitz. Let’s go through my dresses, shall we?”

 

***

 

Jemma ends up having dinner with Skye at some hip sushi restaurant where three separate groups ask to have their picture taken with the actresses. They both oblige kindly and by the time Jemma gets home, she’s absolutely exhausted. Widget anxiously awaits her arrival, putting an immediate smile on her tired face as she scoops her up and snuggles her close.

 

“Hi baby girl,” she coos. “Sorry I was gone for so long today. It wasn’t really intentional. Skye is actually quite nice, I think you’d like her.”

 

She drops Widget on her bed as she starts removing her makeup and changing into pajamas. She tells her dog all about her day, pausing as though the little mutt will reply. About halfway through recalling her conversation with Skye, Jemma sighs heavily.

 

“This is absurd, Widge,” she informs her dog, who blinks obliviously on the duvet. “You don’t care about any of this. You’d just like a biscuit and a pat, wouldn’t you?”

 

Widget wriggles as if in agreement.

 

“I’d call Bobbi but I’ve rather intruded on her enough, don’t you think? She and Hunter are in such a lovely honeymoon phase. I don’t want to keep butting my head in.”

 

Widget, again, says nothing.

 

Jemma’s eyes fall to the framed photo of herself and Fitz on her bedside table. It had been taken on a vacation they’d spontaneously gone on. He’d insisted that they should rent a cabin in Northern California and turn off their phones for five straight days. They’d enjoyed a private lake and each other’s company. That’s where they’d written most of their screenplay and had really come back together after all of those months apart.

 

In the photo, they’re sitting next to a fire. She’d used her digital camera’s timer and tripod so that she could adequately cuddle into his side. They both look perfectly content and at peace, a look she hasn’t seen either of them have in some time.

 

Her gut aches for him, for the companionship that they’ve always shared and for the brief flare of fire they’d experienced just a few nights before. Less than 72 hours after their conversation at Griffith Park, she already regrets her pledge to have space. Space suddenly feels like the very last thing she needs, and before she can think too hard about it, her fingers are dialing him on the phone.

 

He picks up after only two rings.

 

_“Jemma? Are you okay?”_

The sound of his voice immediately unravels the anxiety inside of her.

 

“I’m alright, Fitz. I just—I guess I just missed you, is all.”

 

She can hear the rattling breath he takes in, and when she speaks she can accurately picture the relieved smile on his features.

 

“ _I’ve missed you too. I didn’t expect to hear from you.”_

“I know,” she sighs, a bit disappointed that she’s already let go of her convictions, especially when she’s still so unsure of how she feels about his lie. Her conversation with Skye had been strangely eye-opening and she’d been unable to think of anything other than him for hours.

 

“I didn’t expect to call you, if I’m honest.”

 

“ _Ah, I see. Have you been drinking?”_

She snorts rather gracelessly. “Nope. I’ve been trying to avoid that particular vice.”

 

_“What have you been up to?” he asks, attempting to ease the tension._

“I met up with Skye today. I see why you like her,” Jemma says softly, playing absently with her pillowcase. “We had a really good time. I invited her to come with me to the GQ party.”

 

_“I don’t like her,” Fitz blurts out. “I mean, I like her enough. Like, as a person. But not—not in a girl-type way.”_

She presses her hand to her mouth for a moment to keep from laughing at him. He’s always been awkward discussing these things, and she can only imagine he feels ten times as much now that something has actually happened between them. Besides, she had been fishing.

 

“Well, good,” she says simply. “I’m glad to hear it.”

_“And why are you—why’re you glad about that?” he asks, voice low. She wonders if he’s lying in bed, like she is._

“You know exactly why,” she huffs. It comes off light and airy, just as she’d intended, but it seems to land heavily, given his sharp intake of breath.

 

“ _I didn’t think you’d…yeah. Okay.”_

Jemma rolls her eyes, staring up at her ceiling. “Will you be at the GQ party?”

 

_“Yeah,” Fitz answers. “I’m supposed to go with Hunter.”_

 

There is a long pause as she debates whether she wants to tease him about his budding bromance, but he interrupts her before she gets a chance.

_“Unless you’d rather I didn’t go. That’d be fine.”_

 

“Oh, Fitz,” she sighs in exasperation. “We’re still professionals, aren’t we?”

 

_“Of course we are.”_

 

“Right, then I think we’ll be fine at the same party.”

_“Am I allowed to talk to you?”_

 

Jemma would laugh if he didn’t sound so utterly nervous to ask her. It breaks her heart and she bites down hard on her lip to prevent him from hearing the short sob that nearly escapes her.

 

“Fitz, of course you can. I’ve just called you on the phone, haven’t I? This is awful. I miss you.”

 

_He sighs in relief, like a dying man receiving an antidote. “I miss you too. So much, Jemma. It’ll be good to see your face.”_

 

“Just my face?” she teases.

 

_“Y’know what I mean,” he mumbles in that adorably sheepish way of his. She grins into her pillow and then yawns loudly. “Y’need to go to bed. Sounds like Skye wore you out.”_

 

“Something like that,” Jemma agrees. “I’ll see you on Friday, then.”

 

_“See you on Friday. Take care of yourself, Jemma.”_

 

“You too, Fitz.”

 

She hangs up before she can say anything crazy, plugging her phone in and snuggling deeper into her pillows. There’s still a small ache in the spot of her heart that she calls Fitz, but it’s been significantly eased by hearing his voice.

 

She’ll see him in three days. She can make it three more days.  


	10. By the Shore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma and Skye go to the GQ Party. Fitz and Jemma catch up after a week of space and end the evening in an unexpected way.

In the days preceding the GQ party, Jemma has to physically restrain herself from calling Fitz again. Their conversation had put her at ease but it had also caused the gulf in her chest to widen that much more. Other than a few texts exchanged regarding their project schedule, they hadn’t spoken since that night. The knowledge that she would be seeing him kept her sane enough to prevent her fingers from dialing him on their own accord.

 

Her Vogue cover comes out that day and the magazine delivers a thank-you basket with a copy in it. The cover is actually quite nice and she flips quickly to the interview to read it. Every now and then something she says in an interview comes off poorly on paper, but a quick skim shows that Hannah had written their conversation exactly the way Jemma remembers it. She makes a note on her phone to send a note to Vogue’s office, commending Hannah on an excellent first cover story.

 

She spends the rest of the afternoon busying herself at her computer to quell her anxiety. She receives an email from Fitz’s mum, a badly angled selfie holding up Jemma’s latest cover. It makes her smile and she prints it, tacking it up on the bulletin board above her desk with the many other versions that already have their place there. She color codes a projected production schedule for her and Fitz’s project, reads through some suggested edits to the screenplay and tries some out.

 

Finally, at five o’clock, the doorbell rings. She darts down the stairs and swings it open for Skye, who smiles excitedly with a garment bag in her hand.

 

“I know it isn’t usually your thing, but I have an idea for an amazing outfit for you. I asked Bobbi for your measurements,” Skye chatters as she walks into the house.

 

Jemma eyes her warily. “I thought we were just going to go with a little black dress?”

 

“See, I thought so too, but then I saw an old photo of you from Hydra and I thought to myself, Jemma is really a badass but she always looks like a cupcake.”

 

“Hey!” Jemma protests. “I don’t look like a cupcake.”

 

Skye wrinkles her nose. “You kinda do.”

 

She tosses the garment bag on the couch and unzips it, pulling out several pieces. The outfit consists of a tight, cropped tank that looks as though it will hardly cover Jemma’s torso, an equally tight matching skirt, and a black leather motorcycle jacket.

 

“I don’t know, Skye—“

 

“This is a GQ party!” Skye immediately argues. “You have to give in to the sex bomb vibe, remember? We already discussed this.”

 

Jemma sighs, looking at the outfit on her couch. “I suppose I can try it.”

 

Skye smirks. “Plus, can you imagine the look on Fitz’s face?”

 

Jemma tries her best not to smile but she ultimately fails. “Alright. Fine. Let’s go upstairs. Kara will be here soon for makeup.”

 

“We’re actually getting out makeup done?” Skye asks excitedly. “Fancy!”

 

“I’m rather useless at it,” Jemma explains. “Kara usually comes by whenever I’ll be photographed a lot.”

 

Skye perches on the edge of Jemma’s bed with a toss of her long curls, short leather dress riding up her thighs. Jemma shrugs out of her sweats and t-shirt to pull on the skin-tight material. She feels immediately self-conscious about the strip of her midriff that remains exposed, although it’s not quite as much as she expected. She slips on the leather jacket and approaches her full-length mirror while Skye bounces eagerly on the bed.

 

“ _Please_ wear it,” Skye begs. “It looks amazing on you.”

 

Jemma examines herself in the mirror, surprised that she actually really likes what she sees. It’s the perfect amount of sexy without being too much. The skirt falls just above her knees, and with heels she thinks it might have a nice elongating effect on them. Biting her lip, she tilts her head at her reflection before nodding decisively.

 

“Alright, you win. I actually do really like this.”

 

Skye squeals. “I’m so excited. Okay, we’ll go with straight hair and a dark lip…”

 

“You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?”

 

“You have no idea,” Skye laughs. She’s interrupted by Kara’s arrival. Skye puts some music on using Jemma’s Bluetooth speakers and for the first time in a very long time, Jemma thoroughly enjoys getting ready for an event. The time flies by as the three women gossip and chatter. Skye and Jemma sip on drinks while Kara puts some last minute finishing touches on their respective eye makeup before their car arrives. They thank the makeup artist as she leaves and take a quick shot of tequila before they head to their towncar.

 

“Thanks for inviting me,” Skye says happily as they pull out onto the main strip. Jemma grins at her.

 

“Of course. I normally don’t have this much fun getting ready. And thank you, for the outfit.”

 

“I’m just really excited to see the reaction,” Skye giggles. She doesn’t need to say whose reaction she’s looking forward to, and Jemma feels a rush of anxious butterflies flap in her stomach at the thought of finally seeing him. A week ago, nearly to the hour, Jemma had finally felt what it would be like to actually _be with_ Fitz. Heat rushes to her cheeks at the thought and she chugs at the drink in her hand to cool herself off. Skye gracefully pretends not to notice.

 

When they arrive at the venue, Skye takes a deep breath and shakes out her hands.

 

“I still get a little nervous,” she admits quietly. Jemma reaches over to squeeze her forearm supportively.

 

“Stick with me. We’ll be just fine. The photographers are going to go wild.”

 

Skye rolls her eyes. “The tabloids tomorrow will be ridiculous. Twenty bucks says someone writes a rumor that we’re plotting Fitz’s downfall.”

 

Jemma laughs, opening her door. “I can just see it now. ‘Hell Hath No Fury Like Two Actresses Scorned’.”

 

Skye giggles, loosening up as they step out onto the carpet. Jemma can distinctly make out Fitz’s form in the distance, near the entrance of the club. Her heart leaps into her throat and she pastes on her most brilliant smile, tugging Skye forward by the wrist. They pose for what feels like forever and eventually, a reporter called out to Skye.

 

“Miss Johnson!” he shouts. “Can I ask a few questions?”

 

Jemma gives her an encouraging look and nudges her forward. “Go ahead. I’ll see you in there.”

 

She declines a few interview requests as she makes her way into the club, eyes scanning for the guest of honor. She spots Bobbi easily, standing near the bar surrounded by a large group of well-wishers and what looks like a few journalists. Deciding to find her later, Jemma approaches the bar and trips slightly in her uncomfortable shoes. Familiar hands reach out to catch her and her breath catches as she looks up at Fitz.

 

“Hi,” she breathes.

 

“Hi,” he replies, looking similarly flustered by their proximity. He steps back nervously, shoving his hands in the pockets of his dark jeans. “You look---different.”

 

This wasn’t exactly the reaction she was looking for and she does her best to hide the way that her entire being seems to plummet to the ground. Fitz scratches nervously at the back of his neck.

 

“Not bad different,” he attempts to correct. “Just…different.”

 

“Yes, well, Skye said I normally look like a cupcake and insisted that I try this,” Jemma jokes, gesturing at her ensemble. “It appears to be getting mixed results.”

 

Fitz licks his lips and she focuses very hard on a spot over his shoulder. “Ah. I see. Skye can be pretty enthusiastic.”

 

Jemma nods absently. “I was just heading to the bar.”

 

“Oh!” Fitz exclaims with a little shudder. “Right, me too, I was just--”

 

“Before you saved me from certain death,” Jemma talks over him. He grins and shakes his head.

 

“Don’t know why you wore those bloody shoes. You’ll want to be rid of them in the next half hour.”

 

Jemma rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “This shoes were very expensive.”

 

“As if you’re on a strict budget,” he teases. “Every time you wear them you complain, and I end up carrying you to the car.”

 

“Incentive enough to wear them,” she shoots back. She immediately colors and she notices the reddening of his ears as he looks quickly away from her face and toward the ground.

 

“I suppose they’re my favorite shoes, then,” he comments quietly. Her earlier despair at his lackluster reaction to her outfit melts into a light, contented warmth as he shoots her a nervous smile. She returns it and orders both of their drinks with ease; for him, a Jameson, neat. For her, a gin and tonic.

 

“How have you been?” he asks as the bar tender turns away to make their drinks.

 

“Alright,” she shrugs. She doesn’t quite have it in her to grin and outright lie. She has been _okay,_ but she hasn’t been _good._ If she was truly doing well, she wouldn’t be gazing at photos of them on her phone before she falls asleep at night. “How about you?”

 

Fitz nods, lips pursed briefly in a line. “Alright. It’s—getting close, y’know?”

 

Jemma bites her lip. “I know. This time of year is never easy.”

 

Her hand goes out to touch him subconsciously, fingers brushing against the top of his thigh just underneath his hip bone. She feels him jump slightly at the contact, but his hand darts out and grabs onto hers before she can retract it. He gives her hand a little squeeze and a reverent glance before he drops it again.

 

The bartender drops their drinks and Fitz tilts his at her. “We’re at a party. We oughta act like it, don’tcha think?”

 

_Fitz grabs the bottle of champagne out of the bucket of ice, smirking at her. The bowtie of his tuxedo is wrapped loosely around his neck, buttons undone and curls unruly._

_“We just won bloody Oscars. We’re at a party. We oughta act like it, don’tcha think?”_

Shaking herself from the memory, she grins at him, clinking her glass with his. “We should. Where’s Hunter?”

 

“Oh, he’s off glowering at Bobbi’s hoard of male admirers,” Fitz laughs, pointing toward the other end of the bar. He’s right; Hunter stands off to the side with arms crossed and a beer in one hand, scowling moodily as a famous male model sidles up to his girlfriend.

 

“Shall we go put his mind at ease?” Jemma suggests.

 

Fitz shakes his head. “There’s nothing for it. He’s too far gone.”

 

Jemma watches Hunter polish off his beer and bark at a waiter for another and snorts. “It looks like that’s the case.”

 

“You know how it is. She’ll be done with all the schmoozing soon,” Fitz chuckles.

 

“Remember that awful after-party for the Linked premiere?” Jemma laughs. “You had to come rescue me from that obnoxious group—“

 

“God, they were like that awful Entourage show,” he recalls, grinning. “You were such a wee little thing—“

 

“I’m not _that_ much shorter than you,” she denies, standing up as straight as possible. Fitz runs his hand from the top of his head over hers, clucking softly.

 

“Dunno, Simmons, looks to me like I’ve still got the advantage, even with those ridiculous shoes on.”

 

She smacks at his chest lightly with her palm. She leaves it against his ribs for a long moment before she slowly pulls back. He swallows hard and glances toward her lips. For a moment, her heart stops. She’s supposed to be taking space, taking her time to figure out if she can really forgive his latest mistake, but she _also_ desperately wants him to grab her in his arms and kiss her senseless. If Jemma knows Fitz—and she knows she does—he very much wants the same thing.

 

She’s saved from her moment of torturous indecision by Skye, who bounces up to them. “You guys! I just had the most amazing interview. They only mentioned you guys like, twice, and then I got to plug Fitz’s appearance on the show. It was such good exposure!”

 

Skye’s mention of Fitz’s co-starring role immediately kills the flare of desire in Jemma’s gut and she hugs Skye tightly to hide her face behind the other girl’s head.

 

“How lovely!” Jemma exclaims. “I’m so happy for you! Told you this party would be a good idea.”

 

Skye pulls away and beams at her, but her smile fades slightly when she sees the look in Jemma’s eyes. The other girl seems to put the pieces together and swallows.

 

“Wanna go dance?” Skye chirps, basically ignoring Fitz on her other side.

 

Jemma shakes her head. “No, I don’t really—I’m not much of a dancer.”

 

Skye opens her mouth to argue, and Jemma knows exactly what her ammunition will be—Jemma and Fitz had a rather legendary dance sequence in Linked, designed to demonstrate how in-tune the characters were. Fitz seems to anticipate it as well, his shoulders tensing.

 

“I’m going to go check on Hunter,” he announces. “You should dance, Jemma. We’re at a party, remember?”

 

She smiles softly at his words and nods. “Alright. Come get me if Hunter needs to be talked off a ledge.”

 

“Will do,” he salutes, nodding at Skye as he passes her. Skye winces as soon as he’s out of earshot and grabs onto Jemma’s hand.

 

“I’m so sorry—“

 

Jemma cuts her off. “Skye, it’s really alright. Let’s go dance, shall we?”

 

Skye looks like she wants to press the issue, but Jemma drags her toward the dance floor to avoid it. Bobbi meets her eyes through the crowd and dismisses her hoard of followers to cut through to the dance floor. As soon as she reaches them, she grabs Jemma’s hand and holds it over her head.

 

“Give Mama a spin, baby!” Bobbi laughs. “You look _hot!_ Way to go, Skye.”

 

Skye slaps Bobbi’s hand in a high-five while still bobbing a bit awkwardly to the pulsing music. Jemma watches her, eyebrows raising.

 

“What the hell are you doing?”

 

“Dancing!” Skye shouts. Her arms wave wildly above her head. “What’s the point if you don’t just say fuck it?!”

 

Bobbi grins with a shrug, beginning to jump in the air. She shakes her head around, whipping Jemma’s cheek with her hair. Jemma sighs mockingly.

 

“I suppose if I have no choice—“

 

She begins to flail wildly beside them. Jemma Simmons didn’t become a world-renowned superstar yesterday, so she knows that there will certainly be video recordings of this all over the place. Gifs will be flooding tumblr and BuzzFeed will make a ridiculous click-bait article over it. She doesn’t care, though, because she needs to release the nervous energy buzzing in her blood and she needs to get rid of the aching in her chest. There’s no one better to help her do that than the women dancing gracelessly at her side. One song melds into the next and her muscles begin to tire. As her movements fade to weak wiggling, she meets Fitz’s eyes over Skye’s shoulder. He and Hunter lean against the bar and he raises his glass at her with a little wink and before she can stop herself, she’s smiling back, crinkling her nose at him as her hair bounces at her shoulders.

 

The song playing is some Seth Dormer song. She’s not a fan of him but she can’t pretend that his music isn’t catchy. The chorus kicks on and her eyes remain on Fitz’s.

 

 

_Is it too late now to say sorry?_

_Cause I'm missing more than just your body, ohh_

_Is it too late now to say sorry?_

_Yeah I know that I let you down_

_Is it too late to say I'm sorry now?_

_I'm sorry yeah_

_Sorry yeah_

_Sorry_

_Yeah I know that I let you down_

_Is it too late to say I'm sorry now?_

She nearly stops dancing while Skye shouts the lyrics, bopping along like a little Energizer Bunny. Bobbi, on the other hand, has started to slow. Fitz downs the rest of his drink and grabs Hunter’s beer out of his hand, taking a long chug from it. Hunter screws up his face in annoyance and holds up two fingers to the bartender as he orders another round. Bobbi follows her line of sight and gives Jemma her chance.

 

“Hunter’s probably in the worst fucking mood. Wanna come diffuse the bomb?” Bobbi hollers.

 

Jemma nods a bit too eagerly. Skye bites her lip, glancing to her left.

 

“Don’t look now, but Trip has been checking me out for the last five minutes. I think I’m gonna go…”

 

“Go!” Bobbi immediately shouts. “Go now!”

 

Skye laughs. “Alright, I’m going!”

 

Bobbi leads the way back to the bar just as Fitz and Hunter slam down shot glasses.

 

“None for me?” she asks, eyebrow raised.

 

Jemma watches Hunter snake an arm around Bobbi’s waist protectively. It’s a bit comical, given that she towers over him in her pumps, but for some reason it strikes a chord in her. She wonders fleetingly what it would be like to have that level of physical ease with a person.

 

It’s then that she realizes how close she’s stepped to Fitz, fingers brushing against his thigh as she tries to get the bartender’s attention to order herself and Bobbi a round. She thinks of their sleepovers and the way that they curl up together with ease, how they often hold hands when strolling down the red carpet, how he drops kisses on her hairline and always appears when she most needs him.

 

She does have that kind of ease, she thinks. With Fitz.

 

She’s never really thought about their friendship as a comparison to a romantic relationship. Jemma has always been an organizer, and she’s had it organized in her _platonic_ box for so long that she’d always just assumed that she and Fitz were better at being best friends than everyone else was. They were so strong and inextricable because they were that good; as everyone liked to say, “better together.”

 

But when she puts it up to her mind’s microscope, it’s more than that, and it jolts her into a hazy kind of awareness that it always has been. Their first trembling kiss during a screentest, that night they’d drunkenly slept in one bed after winning their first Oscars, all of the times he’d let himself into her house with the key she’d attached to his keychain, the absolutely horrific pain that had ripped through her when Mack confirmed her worst fears, the numb six months she’d spent without him—it all adds up with startling certainty.

 

She’s in love with him, and she has been since she was seventeen.

 

“Jemma?” he asks worriedly. She blinks and reels backward from his face, eyes wide.

 

“Hi. Yes. That is…me.”

 

“Are you okay?”

 

His brow is furrowed, navy eyes flooded with concern, and all she can think about is the sound he makes when she bites his lower lip.

 

“I’m just fine,” she says, overly-bright. She grabs the shot off of the bar and hands one to Bobbi. “Congratulations, super model!”

 

Bobbi shakes her head but accepts it anyway. “Here’s to another unrealistic depiction of the female body!”

 

Hunter smirks, pecking her on the cheek. “Not your fault that you look…like this.”

 

Bobbi knocks back the shot. “I work _very_ hard to look like this, for the record.”

 

Hunter grins cheekily, tugging her flush against him and pulling her down by the neck for a heated kiss. Jemma shifts, staring awkwardly at the ceiling of the club before letting her eyes roam toward the dance floor. Trip is attempting to teach Skye how to swing dance to an electronic beat. She can’t quite tell which one of them is smiling brighter, and it makes her chest ache even more.

 

Suddenly she feels Fitz’s warm hand in hers. A gin and tonic is shoved into her other hand as he snatches a whiskey and tugs her off toward one of the secluded round booths, further away from the noise and cameras.

 

He collapses into it, scooting toward the back to let her in after him. “Those two are like a walking sex tape, I swear to God.”

 

Jemma laughs, crossing her legs as tightly as she can at the sound of his accent wrapping around the word ‘sex’. “They really are. I hear you’ve been spending a lot of time with Hunter.”

 

Fitz nods, turning toward her intently as they converse. It’s something she’s failed to appreciate about him in the past, the way he gives her his full attention even when they’re at a huge party full of Hollywood’s finest.

 

“Yeah, he’s…really cool. You were right. And his band is awesome, I went out with them the other night.”

 

“And what did you think of Mike?” Jemma asks, tilting her head to the side in a challenge. He narrows his eyes slightly, leaning forward.

 

“He’s nice. Not as well-formed and symmetrical as I expected him to be, though.”

 

Jemma huffs out a laugh. “Oh, is that so?”

 

“Mhm,” he hums, leaning back with a satisfied little grin. “Since that’s apparently your type and all.”

 

She rolls her eyes. “You started that. You said you would pay to have sex with me.”

 

“I did not!” he denies. “I said that _most men_ would pay to have sex with you.”

 

“Ah, I see,” she laughs. “Quite the distinction.”

 

He grins. “Exactly. Quite distinct, really. But anyway, yeah, Hunter is great. He’s nuts about Bobbi.”

 

“She’s pretty crazy about him, too,” Jemma says. “I caught her looking at wedding dresses on Pinterest.”

 

Fitz’s jaw drops, eyes sparkling. “No way. Bobbi always said she’d never get married.”

 

Jemma shakes her head wildly. “No, no, she said she’d never find anyone she _trusted_ enough to get married, but I think that’s changed now, don’t you?”

 

Fitz glances over toward their friends who have mercifully at least stopped making out. Instead, they’re completely wrapped up in each other. He smiles and nods.

 

“I suppose it is. He and I are thinking about taking a trip to the UK.”

 

“Aw, a little lads trip!” Jemma teases, nudging him with her elbow. “You’ve always wanted one of those.”

 

He blushes, rubbing his hands over his cheeks in embarrassment. “Yes well you’re not very good at lads weekends, are you?”

 

“I did my best,” she reminds him. “Remember when I—“

 

“Yes, Jemma, I do remember that,” he says quickly. “Let’s not re-live it, shall we?”

 

“She was a very pretty stripper, Fitz, and—“

 

“And the girl I was in love with was sitting next to me,” Fitz talks over her. “I just kept hoping the floor would swallow me whole.”

 

Jemma blinks, mind stuck in a loop of his words. _The girl I was in love with._ They’d been nineteen when they’d taken a trip to New York City and she’d called it a “lad’s weekend.” Had he really felt this way for her for that long? He’d known it and kept it in all this time, while she can barely contain herself from just a few weeks of awareness.

 

“What?”

 

“What?” Fitz asks, confused. She watches his mind catch up with his mouth and he groans, knocking his forehead on the table. “I was just—it was, uh—“

 

“Fitz…”

 

“We’re getting along,” he interrupts. “I didn’t mean to say that. Please, let’s just…pretend I didn’t, alright?”

 

She scoots a bit closer to him, tugging one hand off of his face. “Look at me.”

 

He does so slowly, turning toward her with nervous blue eyes. She moves deliberately, fingers brushing against the front of his curls. His eyes flutter shut with a shuddering breath and she brushes her lips softly against his. She revels in the warmth of his hand as it comes up to rest on the back of her neck, pulling her closer as his mouth presses firmly into hers. Just as she lets herself get lost in the tide of vibrating feeling that pulses through her veins, he pulls back with the quietest of whimpers.

 

“Jemma—I can’t.”

 

“Why?” she asks. “You haven’t signed up for another television show, have you?”

 

He smiles sadly, linking their fingers. “No, but that. That’s why I can’t. You’re still upset, and you have every right to be, but I don’t want us to start something new until we fix what we’ve always had.”

 

She deflates, but her dejection is short-lived. Her heart picks up its pace again as he tugs her into his arms, tucking her tightly underneath him.

 

“You’re my best friend,” he whispers into her ear. “Always.”

 

Jemma nods against his neck. “And you’re mine.”

 

Her eyes close as his fingers run through her hair.

 

“You’re right,” she admits. She’s not sure if he can even hear her, but the little squeeze he gives her indicates that he did. “But we can’t work on things if we’re not speaking so maybe…less space?”

 

She pulls back to look at him and finds him grinning. “Yes. Less space would be…fantastic.”

 

She smiles back, hardly restraining herself from surging forward to kiss him again. “We need to go rejoin the party.”

 

“Or,” he smirks mischeviously, “we could take the Porsche, grab some in-n-out, and sit on the beach?”

 

With a loud giggle, she nods enthusiastically. “That! We’ll do that one.”

 

They say quick goodbyes to Bobbi and Hunter, who seem excessively pleased to see them leaving together. Skye is too busy flirting with Trip to even notice them leaving, and Jemma sends her a quick text to let her know that the towncar will take her (and possibly Trip) home whenever she’s ready.

 

Fitz orders their usual, a massive meal for himself with animal style fries and a cheeseburger meal with the burger wrapped in lettuce for Jemma. When he parks at the beach he tucks in, sleeves rolled to his elbows as Jemma wrinkles her nose and scoffs in disgust.

 

“How do you eat so much and stay so thin?”

 

“Horrendous amounts of punishing exercise,” he mumbles through a mouthful of food.

 

They eat in peaceful silence, his headlights illuminating the black waves in front of them. The Santa Monica pier sparkles beside them, the joyous sounds of tourists flooding through the windows.

 

“Did I tell you they need me to come in and re-shoot one scene for Maveth?” Jemma asks, slurping at her Sprite.

 

Fitz chooses not to point out that they haven’t been speaking. “No. What scene?”

 

“The one where I jump out of the plane,” she groans. “They offered to let my stand-in do it, but then I can’t say I did all of my own stunts. Apparently they put the wrong blouse on me so now the continuity is off.”

 

Fitz pats her hand in commiseration. “Well, can’t say I don’t have to jump out of a plane.”

 

She rolls her eyes. “Only cause you’re not fast enough.”

 

“It’s my nightmare sequence!” he protests. “Of course he’s not fast enough in his nightmare.”

 

“Excuses, excuses,” she clucks.

 

As soon as he’s balled up his wrappers and tossed them back in the bag, she opens the car door.

 

“Come on, we didn’t come to the beach to sit in the car.”

 

“I did.”

 

This earns him another dramatic but fond roll of her eyes and she tugs him into the sand. Her heels stick in it and she falls out of them with a startled shriek. His hands come up to catch her for the second time that night.

 

“Those damn shoes,” he grins. “Always getting you into trouble.”

 

“Good thing I have someone to get me out of it,” she says, bending down to gather them in her hands.

 

“True,” he shoots back. “Only the problem is, sometimes it’s a lot more fun getting you into it.”

 

“Fitz…” she says warningly, taking a step back. He follows after her, slowly kicking off his shoes. “Fiiiiiitz…”

 

She takes off running down the beach and he follows her with a shout. She squeaks, laughing loudly as he chases her. He catches her around the waist and drags her, shrieking like a banshee, toward the water. Her toes brush against it as it laps over his socked feet. He drops her in.

 

“FITZ!”

 

“Sorry!” he apologizes. “It’s really bloody cold!”

 

“Yes, I can feel that!” she laughs as Fitz runs back to dry land. He peels off his socks and tosses them to the side. Jemma remains in the water, a suspicious little grin on her face that has him looking quite worried.

 

“Jemma…”

 

She cups her hands in the water, and before he can move further away, she splashes him right in the face.

 

He splutters, jaw dropping. “Why would you do this to me?”

 

“Payback is a bitch, Leo Fitz.”

 

Steeling himself, he wades in after her, kicking up a mini wave of water against her bare legs.

 

“Fitz! Your suit!”

 

“I’ve got a thousand,” he chuckles.

 

It doesn’t take long for the icy water to become too much. She’s the first to admit defeat, and by the time he drops her off at home, she’s grinning like a madwoman, feeling better than she has in days.

 

It takes her significantly longer to fall asleep than normal; her mind won’t stop replaying their kiss in the club and imagining how nice it would have been to have shared one on the beach.


	11. Penny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz tries his hardest to maintain his partnership with Jemma despite his overwhelming shooting schedule for Skye's show. Jemma attempts to face the hardest day of the year alone but Fitz can't let that happen, and they finally talk about the event that changed everything.

Jemma has nearly given up on him when Fitz stumbles through her front door, looking like hell. She sits up on her couch with wide eyes.

 

“Fitz! What happened?”

 

He lazily waves one hand at her, collapsing onto her floor and letting Widget run all over his chest.

 

“16 hours of shooting,” he groans. “16 bloody hours of sitcom shooting.”

 

She crinkles her face in sympathy and moves toward the kitchen. “Let me make you some tea. Have you eaten?”

 

He groans. “Yeah. Tea would be good though. How many edits are making?”

 

Jemma clicks on the kettle and stands between the kitchen and the living room, arms crossed over her chest as she gazes at him fondly. “Way too many, if you ask me.”

 

“You want to fight them all, don’t you?” he grins. His eyes stay shut as Widget settles down on his stomach, curling up in a little ball. Jemma lifts her phone from her pocket and snaps a quick photo.

 

“Of course I do. I think the screenplay is perfect exactly as it is.”

 

Fitz snorts. “And I thought there was only one way to laugh at a joke until today. They made me do _nineteen different laughs,_ Jemma.”

 

“Poor dear,” she clucks. “How much did you get done today?”

 

“Nearly two episodes,” he tells her. She busies herself with making their tea. “We did the meet-cute one and then the first date one. It took forever cause Skye kept kissin’ me like my grandmother.”

 

Jemma grins to herself, stirring an absurd amount of sugar into his cup and adding just a splash of cream to her own. “Oh, really?”

 

Fitz snorts. “I’d be a bit offended if we weren’t such good friends.”

 

“So your crush on her…” Jemma says, trailing off as she places his mug on the coffee table beside him. She hides most of her face with her tea, cursing herself internally for even bringing something like that up. They have yet to talk about the actual implications of what happened between them, both at Fitz’s apartment and at the GQ party two weeks prior.

 

Fitz moves Widget off of his stomach so that he can sit up, slouched forward with exhaustion. He pegs Jemma with a look. “Oh c’mon, y’know that wasn’t _real.”_

Jemma swallows, thinking of Bobbi’s repeated words to her over the last several weeks.

 

_You need to communicate, Jemma! You bottle everything up and then you expect him to know what you’re thinking._

“It just—seemed real. And you admitted to me that—“

 

Fitz bites his lip thoughtfully, scratching behind his ear. “I mean, I had a crush. A small one, but only because I’d—I’d given up on this.”

 

He gestures weakly between them. Now it’s his turn to hide behind his mug of Earl Grey. Jemma softens slightly.

 

“And what changed your mind?”

 

“The fact that you’re the _only_ person in the world I’d dream of getting out of bed at two in the morning for,” he admits. “And then spending the day with you after that just kinda brought it all back. Had to admit I couldn’t keep trying to pretend it wasn’t there, at least to myself.”

 

Jemma smiles, pleased with his answer. “Well. Good, I’m glad.”

 

“Glad for what?” Fitz fishes, eyebrows raised in a little challenge.

 

“Glad that you couldn’t pretend,” Jemma finally says, cheeks blazing. He beams back at her and they sit there for a long moment, just grinning at each other, until he nods at the script on the table.

 

“Shall we get on with this, then? I’ve got an 8 a.m. call tomorrow.”

 

Jemma looks at the time and her heart sinks. “Oh, it’s already nearly midnight, Fitz! I can just do this myself—“

 

He shakes his head sharply. “Absolutely not. It’s our project, I’m not going to just put it all on you.”

 

“You need rest,” she protests. “Really, Fitz, it’s alright.”

 

“Jemma,” he says sternly. “We’re doing this.”

 

She huffs, crossing her arms and glaring at him. “Fine, but we’ll be doing this while you _rest._ Up you go.”

 

She tucks her laptop and screenplay under her arm, grabbing her mug in her other hand and making her way upstairs. He groans as he looks at the daunting staircase, but slowly picks himself up off of the ground and follows her. She’s fluffing pillows when he gets to her bedroom, and she settles in on one side as he flops onto the other.

 

“You let me have the good pillow,” he smirks.

 

“That must have been a mistake,” she says, but there’s a small smile on her face that tells him it was on purpose. He rolls onto his side, pillow under his arm, and faces her.

 

“Alright, what’s the first edit?”

 

She takes a deep breath, flipping to the page marked up by Maria Hill.

 

She taps on the scene in question. “Right here.”

 

Fitz inches closer to read it, propping the script up on her side and reading it sideways. She types quickly at her computer as they bicker about the best ways to make edits for the more vague notes.

 

After an hour or so, Fitz begins to fight back less, his blinks becoming longer. She internally debates whether or not she should send him home, but she recently read that tired driving is worse than drunk driving, so she chooses to say nothing. It has absolutely nothing to do with his warmth or the weight of him on her mattress beside her. His murmuring becomes practically nonsensical, and her fingers move on their own accord to brush through his curls.

 

“An’ then we just do a…a scenic thing. Y’know like a—a scene,” he mumbles. She bites down on her smile and glances down at his relaxed face.

 

“Hey Fitz?”

 

“Mm?”

 

“Why don’t you go to bed?” she asks softly.

 

He stiffens ever so slightly, and her hands drift toward his back in an effort to loosen his muscles. “I don’t—wanna—home.”

 

She chuckles, as low as she can as not to disturb him, and kneads at his shoulder. “Silly Fitz. Just sleep here.”

 

His eyes flutter open in surprise. “Wha’?”

 

She rolls her eyes. “Just go to bed.”

 

He shakes his head. “No, no. I’m—I’ma go home soon. We—finish the edits.”

 

“Alright, Fitz. Let’s finish the edits.”

 

She talks him through the next three edits, even with no response. Only when his leg twitches with sleep does she set aside her computer and papers, shrinking down into the pillows. She glances over at him, drinking in the sight of every inch of him on her bed. He looks exceedingly uncomfortable in his day clothes, and just as the thought invades her mind, he shifts with a discontented expression on his slumbering face.

 

She sighs heavily, dragging herself up to the edge of the bed to remove his shoes. After a long moment of indecision, she undoes the snap on his jeans and tugs them off carefully before yanking her duvet out from underneath him. He sleeps like the dead, and she’s able to tuck him in with relative ease.

 

She moves over to her side of the bed, plugging in her phone and setting an alarm for 7 a.m. He said he had an 8 a.m. call time and she would hate for him to be late. Turning out the lights, she rolls toward him and links their ankles together. He makes a small moaning noise from the back of his throat, curling in toward her.

 

“Jem’ma,” he whispers. She can tell he’s still sleeping, but it sends a brief shiver down her spine anyway. His hands curl around the soft material of her t-shirt.

 

She smiles softly, unable to refrain from kissing his forehead. “Goodnight, Fitz.”

 

In the minutes before she falls into sleep, her mind wanders to the concept of _space_ and what exactly it means to her. At first, when she’d asked him for space, she’d meant it physically. She hadn’t wanted to see him or speak to him, somehow thinking that her anger and hurt would disappear with his image. Now, as he breathes heavily beside her, she thinks about how it’s not really possible for her to get that kind of space from him. The six months after she’d left had been some of the longest of her life, and she’d spent all of that time feeling like she was on a completely different planet, gazing at his photograph on her phone. Jemma can’t figure out how she’d ever thought that creating distance between them could really help them. Even when she’d left him for his own sake, it had damaged her in a way that she hasn’t quite repaired yet.

 

Just the thought of it tightens her throat with tears and she swallows them down, scooting as close as she can to his warmth. He murmurs something in his sleep that she can’t quite make out, either because he’s that unintelligible or because she’s just that tired.

 

Her last thought before she slips away into unconsciousness is that she’s going to her best to prevent any unnecessary space between them from happening again.

 

It feels like only minutes until her alarm is blaring at her, wrenching her back into the waking world. Fitz shoots up wildly, arm slapping toward her phone and instead resulting in a hard smack to her chest.

 

“Ow,” she moans, clutching at her injured breast. “Fitz, why?”

 

“Jemma? What? Huh?” Fitz groans, scrubbing his hands over his face. “What’m I doing here?”

 

“You fell asleep,” Jemma explains in a muffled and exasperated tone, face mashed into the pillows.

 

“Fuck,” he curses. “Did you finish the edits on your own?”

 

“Nearly,” she sighs, rolling over to face him. He looks at her guiltily and she quickly continues in an attempt to stop his spiral. “Really, Fitz, it’s okay. You’re working insane hours to keep this alive, and—“

 

“Yeah, and whose fault is that?” Fitz snaps. She doesn’t recoil; she just raises her eyebrows and pegs him with a stare. “Sorry, that was—“

 

“Harsh?” Jemma teases. “Go take a shower to wake yourself up. Your jeans and shoes are one the floor, and I’ve got a couple shirts of yours in—“

 

“The top right drawer,” Fitz finishes. “Got it.”

 

He seems to realize her words just as she tugs her blankets up to her shoulders, prepared to fall back asleep.

 

“Did I—did I get in your bed and take my trousers off?”

 

Jemma giggles weakly. “No, Fitz, you got in my bed and _I_ took your trousers off.”

 

He chokes rather loudly. “Christ.”

 

She sits up on her elbows to look at him as he throws the covers off of himself to pad toward her bathroom. “You just didn’t seem very comfortable, that’s all.”

 

He doesn’t turn to look at her and for a moment she thinks she’s upset him, until she notices the redness of the back of his neck. Just before he’d flailed away from her at the sound of her alarm, she could have sworn that there was a certain kind of firmness pressing against the swell of her—

 

“Well, thanks. Get back to sleep, you.”

 

He clicks the door shut behind him, but the idea of him in the shower prevents her from falling back asleep. It’s absurd, really, that they’ve been friends for so very long and this kind of thing has never plagued her before. He emerges in a puff of steam with a towel tied around his slim waist, and her mouth goes completely dry at the sight. She can hardly tear her eyes away from his chest, gaze travelling down his abs toward his navel.

 

Fitz obviously notices her attentions, given the splotchy blush that appears on his body, and she resists the urge to giggle as he goes to change inside of her walk-in closet. He comes out looking refreshed, and he kisses her on the cheek on his way toward the door.

 

“Thanks for letting me sleep here,” he tells her. “And even though I fell asleep it was—it was nice to spend some time with you. It’s been a while.”

 

Since their night at the beach two weeks ago, they’ve hardly had a chance to see one another. His filming schedule for Skye’s show has kept him extremely busy, and she understands that. Regardless, it still bites a little bit.

 

She smiles back at him. “Anytime, Fitz. Drive safe.”

 

He gives her a little salute and then he’s gone. She doesn’t even notice the date until the afternoon, and as soon as she does, it sinks down inside of her like a cement block, holding her under the water.

 

***

 

Jemma turns her phone on airplane mode, wraps herself in the most comforting clothes she can find (a pair of boyfriend jeans and an old jumper of Fitz’s) and drives straight to the cemetery with a cluster of sunflowers in hand. When she reaches her destination, she puts her car in park and gathers herself as much as she possibly can.

 

She wonders if this will ever get any easier, if time will somehow make her forget the poisonous guilt that runs through her every time she thinks about it, every time this day comes. Part of her hopes it never does, because this is what she deserves, but the other part wants respite from this kind of pain.

 

She makes her way through the well-manicured grass and collapses to her knees underneath a weeping willow tree. She and Fitz had chosen this spot for its combined serenity and melancholy. A small artificial stream runs nearby and the light babbling of the water is the only sound beyond her sniffling.

 

**PENELOPE FITZ**

**9 MARCH 1997 – 22 NOVEMBER 2012**

**BELOVED DAUGHTER, SISTER, AND FRIEND**

**_Here comes the sun, little darling_ **

****

She chokes back a sob as her fingers trace the raised letters on the copper headstone.

 

“Hi Penny,” she whispers. “You’d be quite angry with your brother and I, y’know. We’ve done—well, we’ve done nothing the way you wanted it. But he’s doing so much better, Sunshine, I promise. You’d be so proud.”

 

Her voice cracks and she takes a moment to give in to her tears and her grief before she fumbles for her phone, pressing play on the Sunshine playlist that has been there since Penny’s funeral.

 

“Remember when I met you?” Jemma chokes out. “You were so small. So like your brother, but far less awkward. You were what—only eleven? Back then?”

 

She pulls up a photo on her screen, and even though she can hardly see it through her tears, she knows in her heart exactly what it looks like. It’s one of her favorites, of herself and Penny when she was so small, sitting beside a much-younger Jemma in Fitz’s first real apartment, their heads popping out of a large cardboard box.

 

They’re both laughing so hard that their eyes are glistening with tears and she remembers the sound of exasperated, fond chuckles from Fitz at the sight of them. He’d been diligently working and turned to find them playing silly games. This is how she wants to remember Penny. She doesn’t want to remember the way she’d looked, upside down in the car.

 

 

_“JEMMA! I CAN’T FEEL MY LEGS!”_

She can still hear it, resounding in her ears, and it overwhelms the sound of the music playing from her tinny phone speakers. Jemma tugs Fitz’s jumper more tightly around herself and briefly regrets having worn it so many times. It no longer smells like him, that distinct musk of aftershave and Earl Grey tea that she loves so much.

 

The air begins to chill, the weeping willow tree above her rustles with a strong breeze, and she hardly notices any of it as the sun starts to set. Approaching steps behind her still don’t pull her from her grieving haze.

 

“You shouldn’t do this to yourself,” he says quietly, kneeling down beside her. His hand unconsciously moves between her shoulder blades, thumb drawing comforting circles. 

 

“Can you believe it’s been three years?” she murmurs, voice thick with tears. 

 

Fitz shakes his head. “Hard to believe, huh? C’mon, Jemma, let’s get you home.” 

 

“She was my responsibility,” she whispers.

 

“No,” Fitz insists. “She was mine. She was my baby sister.” 

 

“Your mum sent her to stay with _me,”_ Jemma hisses. The words come out harsher than she intends them and she hopes he knows that it’s not anger with him. He doesn’t flinch away from her and instead collapses back, sitting down fully rather than balancing on his heels.

 

“She was with you because I couldn’t handle it,” Fitz reminds her sternly. “Mum’s chemo was making her so sick, and I was so stressed about More Than That, and—“

 

“I _made you_ do that movie,” Jemma argues. Tears begin to well in her eyes again and she curses, wiping at them angrily. “And I was driving the car, Fitz. I killed Penny.”

 

“You didn’t do anything!” Fitz shouts. The sound startles her and she turns to stare at him in shock. In the months following Penny’s death they’d hardly spoken of the consequences. There had been funerals to plan and his mother’s care to oversee. And when Fitz had wanted to go to Scotland, that’s when everything had really gone to hell. “That asshole who had one too many and got behind the wheel of his car killed my baby sister but not you, Jemma. You did everything you could to get her out of there.”

 

“But it wasn’t enough,” Jemma chokes. “I loved her so much, Fitz, and I’ll never forgive myself for…for anything I could have done. Paid more attention, swerved out of the way, slammed on my breaks. And then I tried to make you _stay_ and it nearly _killed you_.”

 

Fitz’s face crumbles and he clears his throat in an attempt to prevent himself from crying. “Jemma…”

 

“And your mum still _loves_ me, after everything I did to her children. If I’d never met you, none of this would have ever happened.”

 

Fitz grabs her, pulling her against him so hard that the wind is nearly knocked out of her. “Penny _loved you,”_ he says gruffly. “And my mum loves you, and I love you. You’re the best damn thing that ever happened to the Fitz family and don’t you dare forget that.”

 

“I’m so sorry,” she sobs. His hands on her skin release the damn of guilt and she gasps wildly for air. Her crying only worsens when she feels his chest heaving beneath her with his own cries. “I’m so sorry, Fitz.”

 

“If what you need is to hear that I forgive you,” Fitz eventually gasps out, “then I forgive you, Jemma. I really do. And you know that Mum did forever ago. Pretty sure she loves you more than me, honestly.”

 

“She’d be disappointed in us,” Jemma murmurs sadly, nodding toward the stone in front of them. “We’re a mess, aren’t we?”

 

Fitz wipes at his eyes with the sleeves of his hoodie. “We’re not so bad.”

 

Jemma barks out a watery laugh. “She’d have killed us for those six months, Fitz.”

 

Fitz snorts. “She’d have killed me for my little stunt that put us in that situation, that’s for sure. I could just imagine it. _LEOPOLD, HOW DARE YOU? IF YOU’RE DEAD, WHO’S GONNA CONVINCE MUM THAT I DON’T NEED TO GO TO UNIVERSITY!”_

Jemma shakes her head. “She sounded nothing like that. It’s almost like you’ve never heard a woman speak before.”

 

“Penny wasn’t a _woman,_ she was a _baby,”_ Fitz huffs.

 

Jemma giggles. “She was, wasn’t she? Made us take her to every animated premiere.”

 

“God and remember how she just _fawned_ over Trip,” Fitz reminisces with an eye-roll.

 

“It was a very cute little crush,” Jemma defends. “Every teenage girl has one. She just got lucky enough to have a superstar of an older brother who knew hers.”

 

His face crinkles up in embarrassment and she shifts their hands so that she can interlock their fingers.

 

“I know I—I never wanted to talk about her,” Jemma says seriously. The shift in mood falls on Fitz immediately and he stares solemnly into her eyes as she speaks. It’s a bit too much for her and she gazes up at the tree. “Maybe if I had, things would have been better for you, and you wouldn’t have—you wouldn’t have overdosed. I should have fought harder to get the time off for us to go be with your mum. And then for so long, I was the only thing who made you worse, and I left, and I didn’t try to explain because I knew you would deny it.”

 

“Of course I would deny it,” he shoots back. She meets his bloodshot eyes with an unamused glance.

 

“I was making things harder for you. You could function with others but not with me. I coddled you and I babied you and you _hated_ me for it.”

 

A muscle twitches in his jaw. “I could never hate you, Jemma, not for anything. Don’t ever say that.”

 

She shrugs half-heartedly. “You weren’t doing a very convincing job of that, back then.”

 

Fitz bites down hard on his lip and stares at the grass between them. “You were the only person I could—I could lash out at, and I knew you wouldn’t leave. I wasn’t doing it on purpose but—all those sessions with Mack kind of showed me that.”

 

“Only then I left,” Jemma states dully.

 

“Only then you left,” Fitz confirms. “And you should have. I understand why you did, and I guess—I guess Mack was right. _You_ were right. I was able to function if you weren’t around because I had to pull it together. I’m sorry I was so angry when you came back.”

 

“You had every right to be,” Jemma murmurs. “I think we both did. We probably still have every right in the world to be angry about all of this.”

 

She waves her hand between them and then toward Penny’s grave.

 

“All the bright and precious things fade so fast,” Fitz whispers. The Great Gatsby had been one of Penny’s favorite books, and Fitz had carried her well-worn paperback copy in his back pocket for months after the accident.

 

Jemma smiles sadly and finishes the thought, just as she’s finished so many of his over the years. “And they don’t come back.”

 

His eyes drift up to meet hers and on some impulse he moves to lay with his head in her lap. “But we did.”

 

She’s crying again, a few tears dripping off of her nose and falling onto Fitz’s cheeks but he doesn’t care because at least she looks relieved. Her shoulders aren’t slumped the way they were before and maybe it’s just him, but he feels like the sun is just rising even as it sets behind them.

 

Her fingers deftly weave their way through his curls and he practically purrs, wanting to close his eyes but desperately aware that if he does, he’ll miss this sight above him. Jemma leaning down, eyes bright and shining, a weeping willow behind her and the pinks and oranges of the sunset peaking through the tree’s long, thin branches. He couldn’t stand to lose a single second of this memory so he stares up at her and watches her catalogue his features.

 

“Do you remember when Penny came to the set of Chemistry?” Jemma asks quietly. He nods against her thighs and she keeps going, punctuating her speech with a watery little laugh. “Oh, she was so cute, and by the time she and your mum went back to the hotel she was in a brand new outfit from wardrobe.”

 

“Mum wasn’t happy that they put makeup on her,” Fitz recalls with a crooked smile. “Neither of us ever wanted her to grow up. You were the only one who understood her.”

 

Jemma shakes her head. “That’s not true. You both understood her plenty, but she wasn’t really my little sister, even though she felt like it. I didn’t have to discipline her or protect her, I could just listen to what she had to say.”

 

“Do you think she would have wound up modeling, like she wanted?” Fitz asks. Jemma hums in thought for a long moment.

 

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. Bobbi would have tried her hardest to talk her out of it, and we all know how convincing she can be. I think she would have ended up at University after all. She’d have made an excellent writer, don’t you think?”

 

Fitz nods emphatically. “When she wrote that little short film for her class, it was really good.”

 

Jemma giggles outright, completely devoid of the melancholic weight that had settled itself on the entire afternoon. “Her mates were so jealous that she got _Leo Fitz_ and _Jemma Simmons_ to do her fifteen-minute class project.”

 

“Little pricks bullied her for that,” Fitz scowls.

 

“Yes, but then they stopped because half of them were in love with you. Then they all wanted to be her friend,” Jemma reminds him. He continues scowling.

 

“Yeah well, she was worth ten of each of ‘em.”

 

“Of course she was,” Jemma agrees. She suddenly groans, smacking her hands over her face. Fitz sits up to look at her in concern. “I forgot to call your mum today. Now it’s the middle of the night there.”

 

Fitz tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I called her this morning. She was spending the day with my Aunt, going ‘round the shops and whatnot.”

 

“I feel awful,” Jemma grumbles. “Today just really snuck up on me, I don’t know how.”

 

“You’ve been really busy,” Fitz assures her. “You’ve been pulling double weight on the project, and—“

 

“And you’ve been shooting insanely long hours for the show!” Jemma protests. “It’s no excuse.”

 

Fitz shrugs. “D’you really think Penny would have wanted us obsessing over this day anyway? She’d much rather us, I dunno, spend the day at Disneyland or something. Not sitting at some metal plate with her name on it.”

 

Jemma studies him and then nods. “You’re right. It’s just only been three years now, and I feel like I’m already forgetting.”

 

“Of course you’re not forgetting,” Fitz scoffs, rolling his eyes. Jemma shivers again and he hauls himself to his feet, reaching his hands toward her. “C’mon, Jem. You’re bloody freezing.”

 

“It’s _Los Angeles,_ Fitz. Need I remind you of where we come from?”

 

“You’ve acclimated,” he grins cheekily as he pulls her to stand beside him. “Assimilated into this nightmarish hellscape of a city.”

 

“You love the heat,” she laughs. He leads the way to their cars, parked right next to one another on the narrow cemetery street. “Can I come over?”

 

He blinks a couple of times but then nods. “Of course, you know you’re always welcome.”

 

“Great,” Jemma smiles, feeling suddenly very shy. “I’ll just swing home and grab some things and Widget.”

 

“Ah right, the Beast,” Fitz chuckles, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I’ll order in. Chinese?”

 

Jemma smiles as she unlocks her car. “Yes. With extra fortune cookies for—“

 

“For Penny,” Fitz finishes. “Of course.”

 

And that’s how they spend their evening, cracking open the ridiculous amount of fortune cookies that Fitz had purchased and swapping stories about her precocious and charming baby sister who they lost too soon. Widget darts around Fitz’s apartment and makes herself comfortable on the loveseat in his living room, and Jemma makes herself equally comfortable curled up against Fitz’s side.

 

She’d tried to do this alone, but that had been a mistake, and she knows that now. They’d always done better together.


	12. Free Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma's stunt goes awry, putting her life in danger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter doesn't quite feel right in the story as a whole, and so I'm a bit stressed about it. I really wanted to include this though because originally, this plot point was what the entire fic was going to be hinged on (until I fell so in love with this verse that I expanded what was originally a 4 chapter fic into something that will extended into upwards of 20). 
> 
> So, needless to say, there really is a point to this chapter, and I hope that it doesn't off-put anyone from the fic. The alternative plot points I thought about exploring instead just didn't feel right to me either, so I found a middle ground with this chapter and I hope that readers enjoy it :) 
> 
> Also, happy holidays to all who are celebrating this week!

_Jemma paces in front of closed doors, arms wrapped tightly around her waist. Sucking in panicked breaths, she tries in vain to halt the river of tears that haven’t stopped since they loaded him into the ambulance._

_Loud footsteps run toward her and she is soon falling into Bobbi’s arms._

_“Shh, it’s okay. He’s gonna be okay,” Bobbi sooths, running a calming hand over Jemma’s hair._

_“My fault,” Jemma gasps out into her friend’s shoulder. “ ‘s my fault.”_  
  


_“No, no, sweetie,” Bobbi murmurs. “It’s nobody’s fault, okay? You couldn’t have done anything differently to stop this. And he’s going to wake up soon and you’ll see, everything will be okay.”_

_“Is he still in there?” the deep voice of Fitz’s therapist, Mack, cuts through. Jemma whirls around, the very sight of him pushing away her fear and heartbreak. Anger pulses through her and she wrenches away from Bobbi’s grasp to push on his chest. He’s so large that her weak efforts do absolutely nothing, but she gets her message across._

_“YOU!” she yells. She doesn’t even sound like herself, and she certainly doesn’t feel like it. “You should have stopped this. This is your **job!”**_

****

_Mack remains calm, stepping away from her blows. “Jemma, I need you to calm down. I know you’re very upset—“_

_“UPSET?” she screams. “Upset does not **begin** to cover what I’m feeling. As soon as he’s awake, I’m finding him a new…a new doctor. We’ll find the best. We’ll go wherever…wherever we need to go. He’s going to get **better.”**_

****

_Bobbi looks nervously between them. “Jemma…”_  
  


_Mack shakes his head at her. “It’s fine. Jemma, that isn’t how this works and we both know it. You’re a very smart woman. You know this wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t your fault. He made this choice. But he was influenced by something inside of him that is bigger than you, and it is bigger than me.”_

_Bobbi snorts lightly. “Nothing is bigger than you.”_

_He shoots her a dispassionate glance and she straightens up._

_Jemma nods, tears returning to her eyes. “I just want to see him.”_

_As if on cue, the doors to his room open and a doctor walks out, snapping his gloves off of his hands._

_“Ms. Simmons?”_

_“Yes,” Jemma answers immediately, furiously swiping at her face in an effort to gather herself. “How is he?”_

_The doctor grimaces. “He’s still unconscious. We were able to pump his stomach. We have high hopes that he’ll make a full recovery, but there’s no way to assess his situation until he’s awake.”_

_“But he will wake up,” Bobbi interrupts. “Right?”_

_The doctor nods with a small amount of confidence. “We believe that he will. With an overdose like this, there are no guarantees.”_

_Jemma sucks in a sharp breath. “Can I--?”_  
  


_“Yes,” the doctor says. “Just know that if he wakes up, he may be disoriented. He may have gaps in his memory, which might be temporary but might be permanent. Again, there is no way to properly assess his prognosis until he’s conscious.”_

_Bobbi thanks the doctor, recognizing that Jemma won’t be able to. Mack steps in front of Jemma as she rushes for the door._

_“I think I should be the one in there, when he wakes up,” Mack says gently. Bobbi has to yank Jemma back by the waist as she flails to attack him._

_“Like hell you will!” Jemma screeches. “He needs me. He needs me more than anyone else.”_

_“From what I can tell, Jemma,” Mack says firmly, “the only thing that makes him worse…is you.”_

_Jemma’s struggle with Bobbi immediately ends. She goes completely limp in her friend’s arms. For several long moments Jemma simply stares at Fitz’s therapist, expression completely blank. Then she straightens, brushing Bobbi’s hands off of her and gritting her jaw._

_“Fine. But I’m going to be there when he wakes up. And then…then I will figure something else out from there.”_

_Mack places a large hand on her shoulder. “I’m so sorry, but we need to think about Fitz right now.”_

_“Of course. I just…I need time to process, and I think he needs to see me when he wakes up. Because he will wake up,” Jemma replies softly. She moves past him toward the door, turning back to him with her hand on the handle. “And you’re his doctor, not mine, so there’s no way for you to know this, but I am **always** thinking about Fitz.” _

_She enters the room and shuts the door softly behind her. For the first time in hours, there is no threat of sobs in her throat, not even as she stares at him in the hospital bed looking so small and pale. A heavy numbness overtakes her limbs, the kind that she hasn’t felt since the doctor emerged from an O.R., covered in Penny’s blood, telling them that she was gone._

_She lowers herself into a chair beside him, kicking off her shoes and tucking her feet underneath her. She grasps his hand, mindful of his IV, and stares intently at him._

_“Oh, Fitz. I need you to wake up for me, okay? We’ve got to prove him wrong.”_

Jemma wakes with a gasp, grasping tightly onto her sheets. She turns off her alarm, shaking herself from the nightmare. She sips at the water beside her bed with trembling hands. Ironically enough, her anti-anxiety medication often gives her anxiety-inducing dreams. She’d taken one before bed last night in preparation for her return to the set of Maveth. Her stubborn decision to make an action romance film and do all of her own stunts is one that she now regrets as she groans into her palms.

  
Widget paws at her leg and Jemma lazily strokes her on the back. “Morning, Widge. Time to go bungee jumping.”

 

She throws her covers off and pads into her bathroom, splashing cold water on her face.

 

“It’s just like any other day,” she mumbles to herself. “Any other day when you’re falling from a really, really tall platform.”

 

***

 

Returning to the set of Maveth is a little bit strange, but at least they’re not in the desert, as they had been for most of the movie. This particular scene is supposed to be a flashback nightmare of Fitz’s character. Jumping off of an uncomfortably tall platform to perform a stunt had been horrifying the first time she’d done it, but this was also one of her more stunt-heavy films and she’d set her mind to doing all of them on her own. Fitz had been rather against the idea of her free-falling, despite all of the safety precautions taken, and he’d checked her harness north of seven times before each jump.

 

Grant Ward appears beside her and gives her shoulder a supportive squeeze. “We just did this,” he reminds her. “Between our practice jumps and the first shoot, you’ve practically done this as much as I have.”

 

She smiles at him gratefully.

 

“I have, haven’t I?” she sighs. “It was rather scary then, though.”

 

“Well, that’s what I’m here for,” he grins. “I’ve got your back.”

 

He nods toward her safety belt with a reassuring little pat to her side. “

 

“You’re right. It’ll be…fun.”

 

“We’re almost ready,” he tells her. “I’m gonna go give the camera guys the run-down one more time.”

 

She watches him wander off to bark orders at the crew and bites her lip to keep herself from laughing. Kara had asked Jemma to pull some strings to make Grant the stunt coordinator for this particular shoot, saying that he was hoping to move up in the ranks. She’d been happy to help, and it _is_ rather funny to see him so enthusiastic about his new role.

 

Ward steps away from his assistants to take a call. “Hey John.”

 

She tunes out after that; she tries not to make a habit out of listening to the conversations of others. Besides, her mind is too busy wandering to the lovely evening she’d had with Fitz the night before. He’d taken her out to dinner at one of their favorite places that they’d been going to since they were seventeen and broke. They had both had to get up early so they’d called it an early night, but he’d walked her up to her door and pressed the sweetest of kisses to her cheek. Her cheeks flush with embarrassment as she thinks of the way she’d fumbled with her keys afterward. It had felt like a _date,_ an actual date, so different from the thousands of meals they’d shared over the years.

 

“Alright, Simmons! Here we go,” Ward says, breaking her train of thought. He straps her green cable onto the hidden belt at her waist. They’ve explained a hundred times to her that the green cable allows them to basically use the same technology as a green screen to make her look like she’s free-falling. “You remember your cue?”

 

She nods resolutely, schooling her face into a serious expression. The makeup on her face, done by Kara to make her look positively sickly, greatly aids her ability to look as grim as possible. The director makes sure everything is in place and Jemma hits her mark, just at the edge of the now-open plane.

 

“Alright, Jemma, we just need a second or so of you looking back at Fitz. Tim is standing on his mark. Then you’ll jump.”

 

She nods her assent, closing her eyes for a moment to get back into character. She focuses on what it would feel like to die, on what it would be like to stare back at Fitz’s face for the last time before throwing herself out of a plane. As much as she hates to revisit it, she focuses on the dream she’d had the night before, how she’d felt sitting at his bedside unsure if she would ever hear his voice say her name again.

 

Once her throat tightens and tears burn at her eyes, she opens them, ready to give her final glance. The director calls ‘action’ and the wind whips at her hair. She stares into the camera with her most heartbroken and resigned expression before she leans back into the wind, feet slipping off of the platform. Her heart races in her chest as she begins to fall, a scream involuntarily ripping from her throat. She falls backward, arms reaching toward the platform where the cameras film her.

 

For a fleeting moment, she wonders why her cord hasn’t stopped her fall. Then the panic of it all sets in and she grapples at her belt in horror, fighting against the force of gravity pressing down on her.

 

The last thing she sees before she blacks out is the green cord that should have been attached to her body, dangling uselessly from the platform.

 

***

 

Fitz collapses into a chair on the set of Mary Sue, head aching as he checks his phone for any messages from Jemma.. He does a quick check on their shared calendar and sees that she’s re-shooting a stunt for Maveth and feels infinitely better, knowing that she isn’t ignoring him after their dinner last night. Deep down, he’d known it had gone well, but her radio silence had him doubting it. For the first time all day, he feels optimistic.

 

At least until Skye comes sprinting at him from the other side of the stage.

 

“FITZ!” she shouts. The panic in her face is unlike anything he’s ever seen before.

 

“Woah,” he says immediately, standing to meet her as she collides with him. She grips his upper arms so tightly that he’s convinced he’ll be bruised. “Skye, what’s wrong?”

 

“Jemma,” she gasps out. His breath freezes in his chest as she drags him toward the green room, where the TV is blaring with a breaking news report.

 

_“Oscar winning actress Jemma Simmons has reportedly been rushed to Cedar Sinai hospital after an accident on the set of her latest feature film, Maveth. It’s unclear what caused the accident. Sources on set tell us that Simmons was shooting a free-falling scene from a platform above an artificial lake on the Universal backlot…”_

The newscaster’s voice fades away, replaced by a high-pitched ringing in his ears as he sways on his feet. Skye shouts to the others in the room and he vaguely recognizes hands guiding him into a seat at a chair as he stares blankly at the television screen. The footage shows a platform, a medic helicopter taking off from the ground. Sirens, and lights, and somewhere in all of that, somewhere that he can’t see, is Jemma.

 

Skye breaks him out of his stunned state. “Fitz! Your phone is ringing. It could be important, you need to answer it.”

 

He raises it to his ear with shaking hands.

 

“Hello?” he croaks.

 

“May I please speak to Mr. Leopold Fitz?”

 

“Speaking,” he chokes out.

 

“Hello, Mr. Fitz. My name is Claire and I’m calling from Cedar Sinai Medical Center regarding Jemma Simmons. We have you listed as her emergency contact.”

 

He makes some kind of affirmative noise from the back of his throat. “Is she—how is—“

 

“Miss Simmons fell from a very large height, but there were sufficient safety precautions in place. She landed on a large raft in the water. Our biggest concern is a head injury. She has significant bruising but was overall extremely lucky. There are no broken bones or serious internal bleeding. Like I said, we’re very concerned about her head injury. She has yet to regain consciousness and we’re continuing to run tests. We’re optimistic that she’ll wake within the next few hours.”

 

“I’ll be—I’ll be there as fast as I can, okay? Please call me if anything changes.”

 

He knows that there are tears running down his cheeks but he can’t bring himself to wipe them away. Claire sincerely apologizes for the situation (which is quite obviously not her fault) and hangs up the phone.

 

That’s when the rage begins.

 

He angrily wipes at his face and picks up his phone once more, standing on shaking legs and storming out of the green room as he gets Phil on the line. His manager answers almost immediately.

 

“Fitz,” Coulson greets. “I just heard about Jemma. I’m picking up Melinda and we’ll meet you at—“

 

“Who the _fuck_ was the stunt coordinator?” Fitz growls.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Who was in charge?” Fitz snaps.

 

“It was a re-shoot so it could have been anyone,” Phil attempts to placate. “Look, we will figure out how this happened and whoever is responsible will never work in this town again. But right now we need to be worried about Jemma. We need to get ahold of her parents, and we need to be there for her once we can see her.”

 

Fitz sniffs loudly, clenching his free hand into a fist. “Fine. I can’t—I can’t tell her parents, Phil. Can you please handle it?”

 

“Of course. Don’t drive yourself to the hospital, okay?”

 

Fitz snorts. “Yeah, I’m in no state to drive. And Phil--tell her dad first. Her mum will take it better, coming from him.”

 

“Got it. We’ll see you soon, Fitz. Jemma will be okay.”

 

When he hangs up, Skye is standing in front of him with a drawn face and teary eyes, holding up her car keys.

 

“Need a driver?”

 

“Are you good for that?” Fitz asks.

 

“Well I’m sure as hell better than you,” Skye retorts. She snatches her bag off of a nearby chair and practically jogs toward her car. “C’mon, we need to move.”

 

He nods and dashes to the car after her. His phone buzzes in his pocket repeatedly and he keeps his eyes on the screen, watching for the hospital’s number. Instead, they’re mostly texts from people who have seen the news, asking him what’s going on. He can’t imagine why any of these people would think that he’d be able to tell them anything right now. He knows next to nothing and his hands are shaking so badly that he couldn’t type a response even if he wanted to. The only one he responds to is a text from Bobbi, and it takes a painstaking amount of effort to get through it.

 

_[Bobbi:] I’ll be at Cedars in 20 minutes, I’m working nearby. Get here safely, please._

_[Fitz]: On my way. Skye is driving. See you soon._

The drive is incredibly tense, with Skye trying to keep herself from getting too emotional and Fitz trying desperately to push his utter panic down.

 

Just last night he’d been eating Thai food with her, teasing her for her inability to eat any kind of spicy food. She’d looked so beautiful in the low lighting of the questionable restaurant they’d been eating at since they first moved to the city, a total hole in the wall off the beaten path where nobody ever recognized them. He’d paid for their dinners and driven her home, even going so far to walk her to the door and kiss her on the cheek. In his mind, he’d pretended that the entire evening had been something of a date. He had wondered, when her cheeks had flushed and she’d nearly dropped her keys on her porch, if she had been pretending the same.

 

Skye drives erratically through the crowded streets of Los Angeles. “Of course they had to take her to fucking Downtown.”

 

Fitz grumbles in agreement. “It’s the best hospital around. She needs the best.”

 

“Did they say…?”

 

“So far no internal bleeding or serious injuries,” Fitz explains, throat tightening once more. “But she’s still unconscious. They’re not sure how serious her head injury might be.”

 

“I don’t understand what happened,” Skye breathes as she slams on her breaks at a red light. “Aren’t stunts like that supposed to be _safe?”_

“Apparently if it wasn’t for the safety precautions they took, she’d probably be… dead,” Fitz says. The last word of the sentence tastes like ash in his mouth and he grits his jaw at the sensation.

 

“She’s going to be fine,” Skye insists fiercely.

 

She sounds like she needs to hear it so he swallows down his desire to tell her that she has no idea if that’s true or not. Over the last few weeks, the two girls have become rather close and he certainly hasn’t been complaining. Their friendship had really helped Jemma and Fitz’s own. Her jealousy toward the younger girl had all but completely dissipated. If anything, it was now Fitz left jealous of Skye, with all the lunch dates that the two had been having. Jemma had showed up to the set on more than one occasion to pick up Skye, leaving him to munch on his food with some of the other actors that he barely knew.

 

_“Girl’s lunch,” she’d shrug with a sweet little smile. “See you tonight, though, yeah?”_

Skye screeches to a stop in front of the hospital, waving him out of the car. “You go. I’ll deal with parking.”

 

Fitz nods and stumbles out, walking as fast as his still-trembling legs can take him. As soon as the doors to the main entrance slide open, he spots Bobbi, standing with Melinda and Phil. Bobbi runs to him, throwing her arms around his shoulders.

 

“They won’t talk to us yet,” Bobbi grimaces. “We had to wait for you, since you’re her contact.”

 

Fitz licks his lips and nods. “Right. Okay. How do I—what do I—“

 

“I’ll have the front desk call her doctor,” Melinda says. Her voice is even but Fitz has known her long enough to see the fear and concern hidden in her dark eyes. She looks petrified, and her partner seems to sense it as well. Phil puts a supportive hand on her back and they walk together to the nurse’s station.

 

“Hunter is playing a show in San Francisco,” Bobbi explains. “He’ll be heading back as soon as the show is over tonight.”

 

Fitz doesn’t really acknowledge her. There are people in the waiting area snapping photos of him and Bobbi and his entire body tenses in anger.

 

“How long until the photographers show up?” Fitz grunts. Bobbi smiles sadly.

 

“Melinda already put in some calls to the security office here. They’ll hold them back as far as they legally can, but we’ll have some trouble getting in and out of here for a while, I think. If it makes you feel any better, Melinda tried to run one of them over when they showed up.”

 

Fitz groans, running his hands over his face. A doctor comes out to speak with him, and Phil immediately requests that they move to a room with a door.

 

“It’s very important that we protect Miss Simmons’ privacy,” Phil explains. The doctor nods in understanding, confirming Fitz’s permission that Melinda, Phil, and Bobbi join the conversation.

 

“Miss Simmons suffered a severe head trauma. Our best case scenario here is that she’ll have a severe concussion. At this point in time, we’re optimistic that we’re looking at the best case scenario.”

 

“How severe?” Phil cuts in. “What are we looking at here, in terms of her recovery?”

 

“Her symptoms may last for weeks, perhaps longer. She’ll most likely suffer from a severe headache, confusion, and even memory loss. She’ll be very fatigued and will need to be on a strict regiment of resting. It’s best to keep her out of high-stress environments, which, for Ms. Simmons, will probably mean not leaving the house.”

 

Melinda nods in understanding. “But she’s going to wake up.”

 

“Our worst case is that she may not wake up,” the doctor says gently. “It’s always a possibility in these cases. She’s breathing on her own and her brain activity has held steady, so we’re very optimistic. We really do believe that she’ll wake up. Our biggest variable at this point is what the damage will be.”

 

Fitz gulps down a few panicked breaths. “Where is she? I need to—I need to see her.”

 

The doctor looks at the group and gives them a sympathetic grimace. “It’s best for Ms. Simmons if only one or two people are present when she wakes. She’ll most likely be very disoriented and the last thing we want to do is overwhelm her.”

 

“Fitz,” Melinda and Phil say immediately.

  
“Fitz should be with her,” Melinda says.

 

“I’ll stay with Skye,” Phil volunteers. “I’m sure she’s worried, too. I’ll keep her posted and the rest of us will stay in the waiting room until Jemma’s more stable, okay?”

 

Bobbi squeezes his shoulder. “Do you want me there? Or would you rather be alone?”

 

Fitz clears his throat, looking to the ceiling before meeting Bobbi’s eyes again. “Maybe uh…for now, I’d like to be alone with her. If I need anything I’ll text you.”

 

Bobbi nods in understanding. “Okay. We’ll be in the waiting room, then.”

 

“Actually,” the doctor interjects, “we’ll set you up in a private area. You’re a rather…distracting group.”

 

Melinda snorts gracelessly. “You could say that.”

 

Claire, the nurse he’d spoken with on the phone, meets them in the hallway to take him to Jemma’s room. They ride the elevator in silence and he’s grateful that she seems to read the mood well enough not to say anything at all. He’s especially glad that she doesn’t say anything stupid, like ask for his autograph or a selfie. He’s heard stories of someone asking Jemma that in the elevator when he’d been the one laid up in bed.

 

Needless to say, it had not ended well for anyone.

 

When he gets to Jemma’s room, he strides in with no hesitation. He just needs to _see_ her, to see that she’s whole and in one piece. Tears burn in his vision when he stops at the foot of her bed, drinking in the sight of her. Her face is bruised on one side, presumably from where she landed. He approaches cautiously, running a gentle finger over the purple on her cheekbone.

 

“Hey Jemma,” he whispers before dropping a kiss to her forehead carefully. A few of his tears leak onto her hair. “I’m gonna need you to do me one last favor, yeah? And then I’ll never ask you for anything again. I won’t ask you to pick up my dry cleaning or make me lunch or anything, ever again, if you just wake up for me. All you have to do is wake up, and then we’ll deal with the rest.”

 

He sits heavily in the chair beside her and slips his hand beneath hers.

 

“Skye’s show can wait. Our project can wait. Everything else can wait, alright? You’re not gonna like that at all, I know how you like to be busy, but I’m gonna take care of you.”

 

He rests his head on the bed beside their lightly clasped hands and focuses on the breathing exercises Mack had taught him forever ago. His racing heart slowly gets back to its normal pace and despite the remaining tension in his shoulders, he feels at least slightly pulled together. With only the beeping of her monitors for company, he watches her face intently and waits.

 

It feels like a lifetime before her eyes flutter, but later he realizes it was only one hour. He does his best not to squeeze her hand and sits up eagerly. His hand not holding hers comes to her forearm, lightly trailing his fingers up and down the pale skin there the way she’d always found comforting.

 

“Jemma?” he asks, voice slightly gruff from emotion and disuse.

 

She groans softly, blinking her brown eyes open. Her pupils are dialated and her gaze falls on him after a long, heart-wrenching moment. Her brow furrows and she blinks in confusion, opening and closing her mouth.

 

 _She doesn’t remember me,_ he thinks, and it feels like his world is ending.

 

“Fitz,” she whispers, a relieved smile breaking out across her features. “What’s…where am I?”

 

He can’t contain the uncontrollable laugh that falls from his lips as he surges forward to pepper her face in light, gentle kisses.

 

“You remember,” he sighs. “You remember.”

 

Jemma weakly pushes him back, still looking disoriented. “I remember going to set this morning but that’s it. What…what happened to me?”

 

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” he tells her, pressing the button on her bed to alert the nurses that she’s awake. “Something went wrong with your stunt. I’m gonna get the doctor in here and then we’re going to get you better, okay?”

 

Even with her glazed-over expression, he can see the affection in her eyes as she humors him with a nod. She grimaces immediately afterward and raises her hand to her forehead.

 

“I’m so dizzy,” she moans. “I think I might…”

 

Fitz moves quickly, grabbing the plastic bucket from the little table on her other side and holding it to her mouth just as she wretches. The nurses come in moments later and take over.

 

“Maybe you should go tell your friends she’s awake,” Claire suggests as she holds back Jemma’s hair. Fitz watches the scene indecisively, cut off from Jemma by the three nurses checking her vitals and soothing her.

 

“No,” Jemma groans pitifully. “Please…please stay.”

 

Then she’s vomiting again and even though he’s always had issues with bodily fluids and bad smells, he sits by her feet and places a warm hand on her leg.

 

“Always.”


	13. Take Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz is driving Jemma crazy--in more ways than one.

Jemma listens carefully as the quiet noises in her kitchen subside. Grinning to herself, she slowly moves out of bed and tip-toes out of her room, pausing in the hallway. Fitz still sounds quite busy downstairs. She makes her way down the hallway toward her office, feeling unbelievably accomplished. She’d spent three days in the hospital and returned home five days ago—eight days after her injury, Fitz seems determined to make good on his promise to force her to take it easy.

 

Aside from brief visits from friends, she’s been confined in her bed. Fitz keeps her company whenever he can, but negotiations with Skye’s show and Maria Hill have occupied a fair amount of his time. He usually hides in one of her guest bedrooms, closing the door so she can’t hear his arguments. According to him, stress is incredibly bad for her while her brain attempts to heal.

 

He’s probably right, but she’s also losing her mind with the boredom. Poor Widget shares her sentiment, and eventually Fitz is forced to take her on long walks.

 

The door to her office squeaks as she pushes it open and she cringes, dashing into the room on her tip-toes. She regrets tearing up the carpet in favor of hard wood—it would have been much easier to get away with these little missions if her steps were cushioned.

 

A light jingling sound comes from down the hall and Jemma’s eyes widen in a panic.

 

“No,” she whispers heatedly. “Widget, no, stay.”

 

Her little dog just wags her tail and happily trots into the room, claws clacking on the wood. Jemma sighs heavily, counting down in her head as the sounds in the kitchen stop.

 

_Three…_

_Two…_

_One._

“Jemma!” Fitz exclaims, exasperated. “Back in bed. Now.”

 

“But Fitz,” she whines, giving him her best pout. “I’m horribly bored. I think it would be good for me to get a little bit of stimulation.”

 

“Absolutely not,” he replies firmly. He reaches for her, tugging on her hands to pull her forward. “Your neurologist said at least two weeks away from work.”

 

“Just a few emails?” she asks hopefully. In the years she’d known him, Fitz had always been a sucker for some puppy dog eyes and a breathy voice. He stares down at her and gulps and she thinks she might have him now. She steps a bit closer, running her hands over his chest and gazing up at him under her lashes.

 

He swallows loudly and shakes his head weakly. “Jemma…”

 

“Please?”

 

A muscle in his jaw twitches and she’s sure that she’s won this round, until he steps back to tug her back into the hallway.

 

“I told you, the priority is getting you better,” Fitz murmurs quietly as he leads her back to bed.

 

She knows that he’s only trying to help. Without him, this entire experience would have been all the more horrible. He’d remained faithfully by her side at the hospital, sleeping in an uncomfortable cot beside her bed and waking to comfort her when she had nightmares of plummeting back toward the earth. As soon as she’d been deemed fit to go home, he’d dragged a suitcase of his belongings to her house. He’d cooked for her, cleaned up after her, and essentially made sure that she had nothing to worry about.

 

Other than her neverending boredom.

 

“You’ve been down there for so long,” Jemma pouts.

 

“It’s almost dinner,” he tells her with a little smile. “I’m attempting that pesto pasta you like so much.”

 

She grins happily, snuggling back into her pillows. “I suppose I can forgive you for keeping me locked in the tower, then.”

 

“We’ll see how you feel about that once you taste it,” he teases. “Do you have everything you need? Water? Snacks? Widget?”

 

Widget hops up onto the bed at the mention of her name, looking between Fitz and Jemma as though she’s not sure where to go.

 

“Widget can’t wait for me to give her some time alone again,” Jemma laughs.

 

“Poor thing, hasn’t been able to throw any of her notoriously wild dog parties.”

 

Fitz ruffle’s Widget’s fur on her head and drops an absentminded kiss to Jemma’s forehead. “I have to make sure my pasta’s not sticking. I’ll be up in a bit with dinner.”

 

Jemma watches him go with twinkling eyes. He’s driving her crazy but she’s also never felt so cared for in her entire life. Her parents had been so focused on her acting career as a child that there hadn’t been much time for doting and caretaking. It wasn’t until she’d met Fitz’s mum that she’d really known what it meant to be looked after.

 

_[Bobbi]: Matchmaking mission: successful_

Jemma reads the text and grins goofily at the tabloid photo of Trip and Skye just underneath it, holding hands as they walk down the street. She can at least count on Bobbi to keep her in the gossip loop.

 

_[Jemma]: So cute! Are you coming by tomorrow?_

_[Bobbi]: Yep!_

_[Jemma]: Can you sneak me some of the screenplays Melinda has for me at her office? Pretty please?_

_[Bobbi]: You know I love you, but I’m not going to risk the wrath of Braveheart. Plus he’s right—you shouldn’t even be texting._

_[Jemma]: Traitor_

Tossing her phone to the side, she scrolls through her Netflix queue once more. It feels like she’s seen everything worth anything on the entire site at this point. Resigning herself to watching the same television series for the thousandth time, she presses play and awaits Fitz’s return with dinner.

 

The episode has just finished when he comes back, balancing bowls on his arms with bottles of water tucked under them.

 

“Believe it or not, this actually isn’t disgusting,” he grins proudly. He hands her a bowl as she adjusts to sit upright.

 

“Thank you again,” Jemma hums softly as he settles beside her.

 

“For what?”

 

“For everything,” Jemma shrugs. “For taking care of me.”

 

He turns to look at her rather solemnly, his head leaning back against the headboard. “What else was I gonna do?”

 

Not for the first time since her concussion, she’s nearly overpowered by her desire to swoop forward and place a kiss to his lips. If he’d been weary to start a romantic relationship before, he certainly is now that she’s been injured. Despite sharing a bed for several days, he’s never shown any indication that he’s open to her physical advances—much to her chagrin.

 

She takes a bite of the pasta and moans softly. “Fitz, this is incredible.”

 

His chest puffs up with almost comical pride and she hides her grin in her bowl. Fitz’s devotion to his caretaker role never ceases to make her giggle. Hunter has even taking to calling him Mr. Doubtfire.

 

“I’m glad you like it,” he says. “Although I think you should still get most of the credit, since I used your homemade pesto.”

 

“I should think so,” she smirks. “Mine is the best, after all.”

 

“Ordinarily I’d take you down a peg but you know how I feel about your pesto. Don’t think I could be even a bit convincing,” Fitz chuckles. “Oh hey, while you were napping earlier I brought over a little something you haven’t seen in a long time.”

 

She quirks an eyebrow and he opens the bedside table on his side, procuring a box set of DVDs.

 

“Gavin and Stacey!” Jemma crows, practically throwing her bowl away from her to grasp at it eagerly. “Where on Earth did you get this?”

 

“Flew to the UK last night, picked one up, and came back,” he jokes. She pegs him with a stare and he shakes his head, laughing. “Don’t know how many times I have to explain the virtues of Amazon Prime to you, Simmons.”

 

“I haven’t seen this in ages!” she sighs happily, hugging it to her chest. “Finally, something somewhat new to watch.”

 

He snorts. “You’ve watched this entire series upwards of thirty times.”

 

“But not even once in the last two years!” Jemma argues.

 

“Well, you can pop that in once you finish your dinner.”

 

“Are you my father now?” Jemma drawls. “Do I not get any sweets if I don’t clear my plate?”

 

“Damn straight you don’t,” he grumbles. “You don’t let me.”

 

“You don’t eat enough vegetables,” she huffs. “You know that. Even your doctor agreed with me.”

 

“You paid him off before we arrived, I just know it,” Fitz contests. “If I have to work out so bloody much I at least deserve to not be subjected to the torture of _salad_ as a _meal.”_

Jemma rolls her eyes. “So, have you heard anything about Mary Sue?”

 

He stiffens slightly and she crosses her ankle over his in a show of support. He seems to appreciate it, relaxing immediately.

 

“Not really,” he shrugs. “They want me to come back as soon as possible.”

 

“Fitz, really, you can get back to work. I’ll be fine on my own.”

 

He shakes his head. “Not an option, Jemma. I’m not going back to work until you can.”

 

“Only one of us fell out of the sky,” Jemma reasons. “We shouldn’t both be lazing about.”

 

He looks at her, unamused. “I’d appreciate if you stopped joking about it.”

 

“I _told you_ not to watch the footage,” Jemma reminds him. “I knew it would only upset you—“

 

“Of course it upset me!” he snaps, agitated. “If the costumer had just put you in the right top to begin with, none of this would have happened.”

 

“I’m the one who pushed for an inexperienced stunt coordinator,” Jemma counters. “I wanted to help Kara by helping Ward and obviously that backfired—“

 

He snorts gracelessly. “It certainly did. Who, by the way, I can’t seem to track down.”

 

Jemma blinks. “What?”

 

“Hunter and I have been trying to find Ward since this happened,” he says, gesturing at her vaguely. The purple bruise on her face has substantially healed, but the green and yellow mark still remains.

 

“Why?” she questions. “Are you two going to beat him up like a couple of schoolyard bullies?”

 

“Of course not,” Fitz denies. “The man is a giant compared to me and Hunter. I just want to chat with him, that’s all.”

 

“You want to threaten him,” Jemma corrects. “Kara is my makeup artist and my friend, Fitz. Ward made a mistake—“

 

“What if it wasn’t a mistake?” Fitz shoots back.

 

“Why on Earth would a stuntman intentionally try to kill me?” Jemma scoffs. “This isn’t a film, Fitz.”

 

“He’s been working in stunts for _years,_ Jemma. Longer than we’ve been in the industry, and he specializes in aerial work. The real question is how he could have attached your harness wrong.”

 

He has a point, but thinking about it causes a burst of stress to rise up in her which immediately results in a pounding headache. She puts her bowl to the side, no longer hungry, and rubs at her temples. Fitz immediately discards his food and stands.

 

“Let me get your pills,” he says, rustling around in the bathroom. “I didn’t mean to stress you out—“

 

“No, I like to know what’s happening outside of this room,” Jemma says bitterly, glaring at the walls as if they’re personally responsible for her predicament.

 

“Still, I shoulda known better than to bring that up,” Fitz insists. He returns with one of her new migraine pills, which she takes without protest. “How about some Gavin and Stacy, then?”

 

“Please,” she sighs, burrowing back down into the comfort of her blankets. He puts one of the DVDs into the player and strips off his button down in favor of a t-shirt.

 

She does her best not to stare at him as he peels off his jeans, but her eyes wander away from the DVD menu and toward his half-dressed form regardless. He pretends not to notice, but the flush on his cheeks tells her that he feels her eyes on him as he slips back into bed beside her. She’d insisted after his incessant tossing and turning on their second night home that he sleep however he was most comfortable. Unfortunately for him, this meant sleeping beside the woman he loves with nothing but his boxers to hide the way his biology reacts to her.

 

The shirt, though, would stay on. Despite his discomfort from it, he stubbornly clings to it as his last defense against the way that Jemma leans toward his mouth on instinct. Rebuilding their friendship is so important to him and he refuses to compromise that just because he’s in love with her and in some crazy and unbelievable turn of events, she seems to have some kind of romantic interest in him.

 

Besides, what would his mother say if he started kissing a concussed woman? He cringes at the thought and presses play on the DVD player. Jemma lifts his arm up around her, fitting herself against his side and nuzzling her head into the crook of his shoulder. He shivers lightly at the sensation, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of her tank top. He draws little circles on the skin of her abdomen, earning him a little grin as she tightens her arm around his middle.

 

She hitches her leg up over his, the heat of her thigh creating a delicious kind of tension in his gut.

 

He gives up entirely on paying attention to the television.

 

***

 

“Her doctor’s number is on the fridge,” Fitz frets, fidgeting with his tie. “Do _not_ let her into her office. She’s also not allowed to take baths.”

 

“Oh my God, Fitz,” Bobbi groans. “She’s not a fucking Gremlin. Go to your meeting. I’ve got this.”

 

He flushes, scratching at the back of his neck and looking at Jemma apologetically. “I know you’re not a child. I just worry and you’re—well, you’re sort of a pain in my ass.”

 

She grins at him cheekily. “I’m your favorite though.”

 

He rolls his eyes and leans over the couch to peck her cheek. “Or something. I’ll let you know how the meetings go. I should be home in a few hours.”

 

“Okay,” Jemma smiles. “Drive safe and take a lot of notes, alright?”

 

He holds up the little notebook she insisted he take. “Got it. See you two later. Don’t do anything stupid.”

 

“I’ll be the best babysitter ever,” Bobbi teases. “And if she tries to break out of lock up, I think I can take her.”

 

“Oh please,” Jemma scoffs. “I don’t think so.”

 

Bobbi raises her eyebrows. “Girl, you are _so_ small.”

 

Jemma’s brow creases and she opens her mouth to respond but Fitz beats her to it. “No! Bobbi, no taunting her with that stupid tall and small meme.”

 

Jemma crosses her arms. “The Tumblr is out to get me.”

 

Bobbi laughs loudly. “The Tumblr? Alright, grandma.”

 

“Bye!” Fitz calls one last time as he leaves.

 

“Bye, Fitz!” Jemma calls back just as the door shuts behind him.

 

“You guys are adorable,” Bobbi observes. “Like a little married couple.

 

Jemma smiles wistfully at the closed door before she snaps out of it, turning to Bobbi eagerly. “So you’re going to let me check my email now?”

 

“No,” Bobbi says without hesitation. Jemma’s face falls and Bobbi squeezes her knee. “But Daisy and I did record ourselves reading those screenplays you wanted.”

 

Jemma reaches her hands out eagerly as Bobbi hands her a flashdrive. “Oh, you’re the best! Thank you so much.”

 

“Don’t thank me, it was Fitz’s idea,” Bobbi shrugs.

 

“Of course it was,” Jemma sighs. “He’s done so much for me this past week.”

 

“He’s a man in love,” Bobbi says offhandedly. “What do you expect?”

 

“You wouldn’t think it. I can barely get him to touch me. He’s acting like I’m made of glass.”

 

“I think he’s just having a hard time wrapping his mind around the fact that he could have lost you,” Bobbi winces. “You were the same way after the overdose, remember?”

 

Jemma flinches at the mention of Fitz’s incident. “I suppose you’re right. I was quite overbearing.”

 

“You were afraid,” Bobbi corrects. “And so is he. So just let him be a papa bear for a while. Once your doctor gives you the all-clear he’ll go back to normal.”

 

Jemma nods thoughtfully, tucking her hair behind her ears. She looks up at her friend nervously and finally decides to just ask her. “Hunter and Fitz are quite good friends now, yes?”

 

Bobbi tilts her head quizzically. “Yeah, sometimes I think Hunter texts Fitz more than me. Why?”

 

“Has Hunter mentioned if…what I mean to say is…would you happen to know if…”

 

“Good God, Jemma,” Bobbi laughs. “Just spit it out.”

 

“Does Fitz want to…knock boots with me?” Jemma blurts out. Bobbi’s jaw drops as her eyes widen.

 

“Jemma Simmons! You are _thirsty.”_

Jemma groans, dropping her face into her hands. “You’ve no idea. The other day he brought me a banana with breakfast and I could hardly look at it without wanting to—“

 

“Okay!” Bobbi interrupts loudly. “You don’t need to tell me what that banana made you want to do with Fitz. I think I can figure it out. But seriously? Too thirsty, even for bananas?”

 

“Even for bananas,” Jemma mumbles solemnly with a firm little nod. She has to lean back into the pillows as a wave of dizziness overcomes her. Bobbi watches her carefully before responding.

 

“Look, you’re kind of not in the best shape right now. Fitz has wanted to get on it since he was seventeen. That didn’t go away, but he’s really preoccupied with getting you better and working out all this stuff with the show and your project. Just give it some time.”

 

“I just don’t know how much longer I can wait!” Jemma exclaims. “This is crazy. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before.”

 

Bobbi crosses her legs underneath herself, leaning her face on her palm in interest. “What way is that?”

 

“Well I’ve always felt differently about Fitz than anyone else. It’s a strange feeling, isn’t it? Never wanting to be without someone?”

 

Bobbi’s mind flashes to the snarky British musician that has slowly managed to chip away at her walls. “Yeah, it really is. Did you not feel that way about Will?”

 

Jemma shakes her head slowly, trying to prevent another dizzy spell. She’s only mildly successful. “No, not really. I had just started filming Hydra and I’d never been more miserable in my life. I’d lost all hope that Fitz and I could even be _friends_ at that point, the way he’d yelled at me when I told him I was leaving. Will was—well, this sounds horrible, but he was _there._ He was good looking and I had accepted a life with him because I couldn’t imagine the alternative.”

 

“So if it came down to Fitz and—well, anyone else?”

 

“Of course I would choose Fitz,” Jemma says immediately. “I’d have probably said that before as well. He’s my best friend in the world, but he’s also so much more than that. He’s the most precious thing in the world to me. Then you combine that with the way I _physically_ want him and it’s just—it’s mad. This is what all the movies are about. I never understood it before, I always thought that these screenwriters were making it up.”

 

Bobbi’s smile could split her face in half. “You are _seriously_ in love with Fitz.”

 

“I really am,” Jemma breathes. “And I feel like I’ll explode if I have to spend another second as just his best friend. How has he lived like this all these years?”

 

“My guess? An approximate fuck-ton of cold showers,” Bobbi laughs. Jemma giggles lightly. “I asked him once, you know.”

 

Jemma sits up straighter. “And what did he say?”

 

“He said that between your friendship and the amount of love scenes the two of you end up doing, he could act like it was real. It was just enough to keep him sane,” Bobbi explains. “So maybe once you guys start filming this new project—“

 

“If I have to wait that long to kiss him I will go out of my mind,” Jemma interrupts. Bobbi throws her head back in a laugh.

 

“And to think, not too long ago you were so unsure about how you felt about him. Now you’re ready to jump his bones.”

 

“You’ve no idea,” Jemma groans.

 

“For the record,” Bobbi says seriously. “I’m really happy for both of you. I know you’re feeling a little impatient right now, but at this point, you guys are inevitable.”

 

“Inevitable,” Jemma repeats, a slow smile spreading on her lips. It reaches her eyes in a little sparkle. “I like the sound of that.”

 

***

 

“I think we should change the title,” Jemma suggests over lunch the next day.

 

“Of what?” Fitz asks around his mouthful of pizza.

 

“Of the project. Parallels is good but it’s not exactly _parallel._ I think we should call it Inevitable.”

 

“Where’d you get that idea?” he asks curiously, wiping his hands on a napkin and leaning back in his chair.

 

“Just a conversation Bobbi and I had last night,” she smirks. “It got me thinking, that’s all.”

 

“Inevitable,” Fitz tries out. Jemma loves the way the word sounds coming out of his mouth. She doesn’t even try to hide it and she’s sure that she’s gazing up at him with a disgustingly adoring face.

 

“What do you think?”

 

“I think it’s perfect,” Fitz beams. She reaches over and squeezes his hand.

 

The light streams in through her kitchen window, playing perfectly on his blue eyes. Her fingers reach up to brush through his hair and he smiles at her with a hint of surprise in his eyes.

 

“Me too.”


	14. Party of Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma's bed rest is finally lifted, so she and Fitz set up a dinner party at her favorite restaurant. Things don't go quite as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story builds! I hope everyone likes this chapter :) 
> 
> I just want to take a moment to say a huge thank you to everyone who reads this, and especially those who have given it kudos and commented. This was originally just supposed to be a short little fic and as it's expanded, I've been so floored by the amount of love and support I've gotten for it! I'm so happy that people are enjoying it, and I never dreamed that a fic of mine could get over 300 kudos. 
> 
> Writing this has truly been such a fantastic experience, and I hope reading it has been too. 
> 
> (And despite the ominous tone of that last statement, we still have a ways to go before this is over)

Jemma tilts her head to the side and observes her reflection carefully. The last remnants of bruising on her face are finally gone, and she brushes the tips of her fingers against her flawless cheek. She’d curled her hair into waves and Bobbi had done her makeup, given that she’d been unable to get a hold of Kara ever since the accident.

 

She wonders if Kara is afraid of her now, since Ward had been the stunt coordinator. She hopes that isn’t the case. After all, she’s sure that Ward made a simple mistake—despite Fitz and Hunter’s assertions that Ward’s experience should dictate that these kinds of mistakes wouldn’t occur.

 

She shakes herself from her train of thought—after nearly four weeks, she’s sick and tired of thinking about (and talking about) the accident, and she knows that it’s only going to get worse tonight. After all, tonight is her first public appearance since she fell out of the sky.

 

“You ready?” Fitz asks, knocking lightly on the frame of the door to her bathroom. She spins away from the mirror to look at him and revels in the way his eyes light up. “You look amazing.”

 

She flushes lightly and shifts in her wedges. It’s a casual dinner with friends, a celebration of Fitz finally lifting her house arrest. “It’s nothing special.”

 

He rolls his eyes. “Whatever you say, Jemma.”

 

She smiles at him and her hands reach up to straighten his collar. “You look quite nice yourself. I’m sure you’re just as happy as I am to finally get out of this house.”

 

“Well, I haven’t exactly been trapped inside,” Fitz winks. “I was here on my own volition.”

 

“Thank you,” she says softly. “I would’ve lost my mind without you, Fitz.”

 

His eyes soften and one hand comes up to tuck a curl behind her ear. Just this little gesture makes her heart race and she thinks that he might finally do something about the tension between them. Instead, he links one hand with hers and leads her out of the room.

 

“Do you think she’ll be alright?” Fitz asks, nodding toward Widget snoozing on the bed. “She hasn’t really had to be alone in a long time.”

 

“I think she’ll be alright,” Jemma says lightly, grinning at his concern for her little pet. “Shall we?”

 

“Onwards and upwards,” he grins. “They’re meeting us at the restaurant.”

 

“Who’s all coming again?” Jemma asks curiously as she gathers her handbag.

 

“Bobbi, Skye, Hunter, Trip, Phil, and Melinda,” Fitz rattles off. “We’re going to get there first. If they beat us there, the paparazzi will already be swarming.”

 

Jemma sighs. “Fitz, I’ll honestly be fine! I’ve been living with photographers following me around for years.”

 

“What if the flashes agitate your head?” he asks, tapping his own temple as she locks the front door behind her.

 

“Fitz, it’s been nearly a month!” Jemma protests. “The doctor said that I’m fine. You’re being ridiculously overprotective, you know.”

 

He huffs, unlocking the Porsche and opening the passenger door for her. She raises her eyebrows in a silent question but slips into the front seat anyway. When he gets into the driver’s seat he looks at her nervously.

 

“Sorry if I’ve been—if I’ve been a bit much,” Fitz says quietly. “It’s just—you could have died, Jemma. And I’m just not strong enough to live in a world without you in it.”

 

His words twist up her insides and she swallows hard to get rid of the lump in her throat. “I understand. I know how you feel, I really do.”

 

He doesn’t want to talk about that, doesn’t see the point in revisiting his incident years later, so he turns on the car and throws it in drive. “Ready for your debut, Miss Simmons?”

 

She leans her head back, eyes shut as she grins happily. “I can’t wait. It’ll be so nice to be out and about again.”

 

“Still can’t believe you insisted on _sushi,”_ he gripes teasingly.

 

“You love their teriyaki,” Jemma reminds him with a little click of her tongue. “I can’t believe you’re afraid of uncooked fish.”

 

“Correction: I am afraid of any and all uncooked foods,” Fitz chuckles.

 

“What about vegetables?”

 

He snorts. “You know for a fact that I am most definitely afraid of vegetables.”

 

She giggles into her hand and feels her nervousness begin to grow the closer they get to Nobu. She’s beginning to regret her decision to choose one of the most popular restaurants in the area—especially one that is so frequently full of celebrities. Photographers and reporters usually hang out at the front on any given night. Sure, it’s a Tuesday, so maybe they won’t be there—but now Jemma thinks she should have taken Fitz’s suggestion to heart.

 

Not that she’ll tell him that.

 

“You ready for this?” Fitz asks. “We can still turn back.”

 

Her hand finds his between their seats and she squeezes it. Not for the first time, she marvels at the way that he can read her mind. “No, I can do this.”

 

“I’ll be right there with you,” he says encouragingly. “Besides, we can always count on Bobbi to give them the good old shakedown if anyone hassles you too much.”

 

Jemma laughs loudly and nods. “I heard she gave that TMZ reporter the scare of his life at Cedars.”

 

A slow smile spreads on Fitz’s lips. “Oh, you’ve no idea. It was the second day you were in there. It was in the paper for _days._ She’s lucky he didn’t press charges.”

 

She’s distracted by the flashing of cameras as he pulls up to the front of Nobu. There’s only about five photographers and Jemma takes a slow breath in through her nose and holds it for several seconds.

 

“Here we go,” she says a bit shakily. Fitz winks at her and hops out of the car, handing his keys to the valet. By the time one of the valet attendants has helped Jemma out of her side, Fitz is in front of her with an offered arm.

 

“ _Miss Simmons! Miss Simmons, can you give us a smile?”_

She contemplates flipping them off instead, but it’s her first public appearance in ages and she knows she needs to put her best foot forward. She beams at the flashing lights in front of her, smile widening further as Fitz’s hand finds its way to the small of her back.

 

“You okay?” he murmurs into her ear. She shivers at the sensation of his warm breath on her ear and nods.

 

 

“Just fine, thanks,” she mumbles back. “But let’s get inside before I change my mind.”

 

_“Jemma! Can you give us a quick comment?”_

Jemma laughs lightly as she throws one last grin over her shoulder, Fitz’s arm wrapped tightly around her waist.

 

“There’s not much else I can say about the accident! I fell, I hit my head, that’s pretty much it!”

 

The photographer laughs but jots down her response anyway. She rolls her eyes once she’s faced away from them.

 

“Seriously, the story is simple,” she sighs, stepping through the door as Fitz opens it. “I don’t understand why I’ve gotten so many interview requests for it.”

 

“Cause you haven’t given them the scoop,” Fitz teases. “You didn’t say anything about how it felt when you were falling—the imminent death and all of that.”

 

Jemma scoffs and smacks him lightly on the chest. “At least the footage isn’t public.”

 

Fitz nods, smile slipping off of his face. “Phil and I are making sure it stays that way.”

 

Jemma gives his hand a squeeze in appreciation and leads him to the hostess desk. The young woman looks up and recognizes them instantly. She schools her face into a cool smile and steps out from behind her little podium.

 

“Mr. Fitz, Ms. Simmons. Your table is all set up this way,” she says politely. Jemma is thoroughly impressed with her professionalism, but she suspects that working at such a star-studded location has taught the college kid to keep her cool.

 

They sit at a large round table near the window, overlooking the ocean. Jemma smiles happily and takes her seat beside Fitz. Shortly after, Bobbi arrives with Hunter, closely followed by Phil and Melinda. Skye and Trip arrive last, hands clutched tightly together as they whisper and giggle during their brief walk to the table.

 

They enjoy a lengthy meal, laughing and talking and catching up. Skye and Fitz chat about the scenes they’ll shoot for Mary Sue the next morning, and for the first time Jemma finds that it doesn’t upset her to think of Fitz on that set. Bobbi and Melinda talk martial arts and Hunter and Phil have a heated conversation about classic cars—Jemma doesn’t have a chance to warn him of Phil’s obsession with his 1955 corvette, Lola.

 

Jemma sits back for a moment, just soaking in all of the happy chatter. Trip catches her eye across the table and shoots her a pleased wink, stretching his arm onto the back of Skye’s chair. Skye glances at him briefly, lips quirking up into a little smile, and then launches back into her discussion with Fitz.

 

“I’m serious, that scene won’t take long,” Fitz says. He nudges Jemma’s leg with his own to get her attention. “Jemma and I did one like it for The Sun Will Rise. Remember the jogging scene?”

 

Jemma coughs out a laugh. “Oh, Skye, you’ll really enjoy doing that scene with Fitz. His run is a bit of a trainwreck.”

 

“Like yours is any better!” Fitz protests. “You should see her, she’s a mess.”

 

She rolls her eyes and Skye giggles. “I’m looking forward to it. I just want us to get it right the first time so we don’t have to keep running down the street.”

 

“He looks absurd but he’ll get it right,” Jemma informs her a bit proudly. Her hand falls on Fitz’s shoulder and she gives it a little squeeze. “We could probably have filmed most of The Sun Will Rise in one take, if I could get my lines straight.”

 

“It _was_ my little sister that kept you up all night,” Fitz concedes.

 

Jemma recalls the night she’d spent with Penny before she and Fitz had filmed the particular scene in question. It had been fantastic; they’d gone out to see a film and come back to her new house. They’d painted nails, gossiped, and giggled until it was practically morning. Jemma had shown up late to work in a display of seriously uncharacteristic behavior. The day had only spiraled from there; her exhaustion had left her unable to remember most of her lines.

 

Jemma smiles wistfully at the memory of Penny and shakes her head. “Nonsense. I was the one keeping her up.”

 

Fitz laughs. “I wouldn’t have been surprised.”

 

Skye watches them with interest, cheek resting on her hand. “So we really won’t have to run for hours?”

 

Fitz holds up a hand, wobbling it back and forth in an unsure gesture. “In theory, no. As long as we both know the lines and give them what they want, we’ll be done with it in an hour or so.”

 

“Are you excited to get back to work?” Jemma asks Skye as she precariously balances a piece of sushi on her chopsticks. Fitz gives her meal a weary side-eye, edging slightly away from it as she lifts it to her mouth.

 

Skye bounces happily. “So excited! We’ve pretty much shot everything we could that didn’t need Fitz, but we’ll be basically done with the season by the end of the week.”

 

Jemma crinkles her nose happily in lieu of smiling, given that her mouth is occupied with chewing her rainbow roll.

 

“Speaking of, have you got the finale script yet?” Fitz asks.

 

Skye shakes her head, leaning further into Trip. “They’re giving them to us at the meeting tomorrow. I guess we’re about to find out if we break up or not, Fitzy.”

 

Fitz rolls his eyes. “Ratings went up enough after our first few episodes, I don’t think they need to keep me.”

 

Jemma finally swallows her food and turns to Fitz. “Do you not want to stay on?”

 

She tries her best to sound ambivalent but there’s a little bit of hopefulness to her tone that seeps through anyway.

 

“I don’t think TV is really for me,” he explains, grimacing at Skye. Skye just laughs and nods enthusiastically.

 

“He’s really not cut out for TV life,” Skye giggles. “Seriously, the amount of whining this guy does…”

 

Jemma puts a palm to Fitz’s scruffy cheek. “Well, he’s like that about _everything,_ to be fair.”

 

“Am not!” Fitz exclaims petulantly.

 

“You are,” Melinda deadpans, joining their conversation. “Let’s not revisit the Pinks Hotdog Debate of 2010.”

 

Jemma throws her hands up. “Melinda, no! He’ll never stop now.”

 

“I won’t even start,” Fitz says haughtily. “Just to prove to you lot that I’m not a complainer.”

 

Jemma laughs and gives his leg a little squeeze under the table. She opens her mouth to change the subject to something else when she’s interrupted by a loud male voice.

 

“Phil Coulson!”

 

She and Fitz both turn to look at the person over their left shoulders in tandem. Their friends don’t even comment on it, all of them having grown accustomed to their synchronized behaviors.

 

“John Garrett,” Phil says as pleasantly as possible. Jemma looks away awkwardly, guilt flooding her as she remembers that she’d stolen the man’s funding for his project. Fitz, on the other hand, suddenly tenses. Hunter, on his other side, eyes his friend cautiously.

 

“Miss Simmons,” Garrett grins wolfishly. “So glad to see you up and about. Heard you took quite the fall, sweetheart.”

 

She bristles. After years in the industry, it’s never stopped agitating her when men call her sweetheart. It’s patronizing and sexist; after all, nobody ever calls Fitz by cutsey nicknames.

 

Well, other than herself.

 

“Yes, well, it’ll take more than a fall to slow me down,” Jemma says with a tight smile.

 

Garrett laughs. “I hope it didn’t slow down your new film too much.”

 

Fitz watches the older man suspiciously, his hand clenched around the back of Jemma’s chair. Jemma’s brow furrows as she looks at him, attempting to puzzle out his odd behavior. Sure, she’s uncomfortable, but Fitz has burning of hate in his eyes.

 

“Mr. Fitz,” Garrett nods at him. “I hope you’re doing well, too, kid. Rumor has it you didn’t leave your little buddy’s side even once!”

 

Fitz suddenly lunges forward and Hunter is quick to leap up and throw him back into his seat.

 

“Fitz!” Jemma gasps. Skye’s eyes are wide across the table and May’s jaw clenches as recognition dawns on her face. Trip looks around at all of his friends in confusion, and Bobbi simply observes.

 

“You’re going to suffer for what you’ve done,” Fitz growls. John watches him with an amused kind of curiosity. “And I plan on being a very big part of that.”

 

“Fitz, you need to calm down,” Phil warns him. Fitz grunts and wrenches his arm out of Hunter’s grasp. John chuckles, a wooden sound.

 

“If anyone should be angry, Fitz, it’d be me. After all, you two are the ones who got my project axed. I’ll see you around, Phil.”

 

He nods at Fitz’s manager and then walks away, black leather jacket fading into the background. Jemma’s head snaps to Fitz and she hisses at him.

 

“What the hell was that?” she demands.

 

“Later,” he tells her, averting his eyes away from her disapproving gaze. She huffs and shifts in her chair, as far away from him as she can get. Hunter, on the other hand, stares at the door where Garrett exited.

 

“Hunter?” Bobbi asks, head tilted in confusion. “What’s up?”

 

“Nothing, love,” he says, mustering up a weak smile. “Guy just gave me the creeps, that’s all.”

 

Bobbi runs a hand over his arm and nods in agreement. “John Garrett has that effect on people.”

 

Skye claps her hands together, smiling a bit manically as she tries to bring the mood of the table back up. “Anyone doing anything exciting over the holidays?”

 

Trip leaps when his new girlfriend kicks his ankle under the table. “Oh! Me? Me. Right. Well, I’m heading back home to Atlanta. I haven’t seen mom and pop in forever.”

 

Skye nods, acting as though she hadn’t already known this. “Interesting. Anyone else?”

 

“Back to Manchester for me,” Hunter says, filling in the silence that follows her question. “Bob’s coming with me.”

 

Bobbi flushes and nods. “It’ll be fun. I’ve never really met anyone’s family before.”

 

“My older sister is losing her head,” Hunter chuckles. “Not every day a super model comes into the Hunter household.”

 

Fitz and Jemma both remain quiet, mustering up their best smiles and hugs to say goodbye to their friends as the night wraps up. They get back into the Porsche quietly, and Fitz finally speaks up.

 

“I’m sorry about that,” Fitz says. “It’s just—that guy is the reason you fell. I know that he is.”

 

“What?” Jemma gasps, shifting so that she can look at his profile as his focus remains on the road in front of them. “Fitz, that’s insane. You’ve got to be joking! It was an _accident,_ we’ve been over this!”

 

“You didn’t watch the footage,” he says roughly. “Jemma, when Ward came to check your harness just beforehand, it looked like he _did_ something to it.”

 

“He probably tightened it!” Jemma exclaims, throwing her hands up. “Look, Fitz, I know you always need someone to blame for the things that go wrong in your life, but—“

 

“That’s not true,” he cuts her off, braking suddenly at a red light on PCH. “Look, Jemma, he’s John Garrett’s godson. Garrett is who got him into the industry. The day that Kara asked you to recommend Ward, Garrett’s project was officially cancelled but ours wasn’t announced. How did he know that we replaced him?”

 

He turns to look at her, eyes pleading with her to just _listen_ to him and she sighs, slumping slightly in her seat. “Perhaps Hill told him when she cancelled it. It wasn’t announced but she could have told him—“

 

“According to Phil, she didn’t,” Fitz interrupts. “I’m serious, Jemma. I think he tried to hurt you, on purpose.”

 

“This is insane,” she mumbles. Tears burn at her eyes. “Fitz, you’re acting very paranoid. Have you told your therapist—“

 

His hands slam down on the steering wheel and he accelerates roughly. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”

 

“It’s not that I don’t believe you,” she rushes to say. “This just seems outlandish. I’m sure he’s angry that he lost his project, but not angry enough to try to kill me.”

 

“Maybe he didn’t want to kill you,” Fitz bites out in frustration. “But he certainly wanted to hurt you. Maybe he just wanted to make sure you wouldn’t be well enough to do the project. Everyone in the industry must know that I would never do it without you.”

 

She feels a brief pang of guilt in her chest at the memory of her own considerations—she had, for a brief moment, think about doing it without him. Jemma takes a deep breath, willing herself to calm down. She glances at the speedometer and places a hand over his on the gear shifter.

 

“Okay,” Jemma concedes. “Okay, you may have a point. But attacking people at restaurants isn’t going to solve the problem, if there is one. Would you please slow down now?”

 

His foot moves to the break and she brushes her thumb over his white knuckles. “Sorry.”

 

“It’s alright,” she says softly. “I just haven’t seen you lose your temper in a while, that’s all.”

 

“Your doctor said stress wouldn’t be good for you,” Fitz murmurs. “That’s why I kept you out of it.”

 

“So that’s what you and Hunter have been up to,” Jemma observes. “Tracking down information about Ward and Garrett?”

 

Fitz licks his lips and nods. “I know you just want to put this past you. I get it. But Jemma, if someone did this to you on purpose, we have to deal with it.”

 

“It’s over!” she bursts out. “It’s finally over. My head doesn’t hurt and my ribs are better and everything is back to normal. So what does it matter, how it happened?”

 

“It matters because they could do it again!” Fitz shouts. Jemma flinches, withdrawing her hand, and he takes a deep breath. “I will never forgive myself if something like this happens to you again and I could have stopped it.”

 

Jemma shuts her eyes, tilting her head back against her seat. “You should have told me earlier. We could have figured this out, together.”

 

“I know you think I’m getting out of control again—“

 

“I’m just worried about you,” she cuts in. “But…but okay, we’ll look into it. You just can’t cut me out of it, alright? And you need to focus on finishing Mary Sue so that we can really get started on Inevitable.”

 

He clears his throat and nods, pulling into her driveway and shutting off the car. “I’ll walk you up.”

 

She tilts her head, confused. “You’re not staying?”

 

He laughs lightly and a bit bitterly. “Jemma, I don’t actually _live_ here.”

 

Somehow she’d forgotten this fact, given that he’d been staying there for the better part of a month. “Right. I—I suppose you don’t have to stay here anymore.”

 

She shivers, pulling her jacket more tightly around herself as she steps out of his car. Fitz pulls the keys out of the ignition and follows her, meeting her in front of it.

 

“Staying with you has been great,” he tells her, fiddling with the tips of her fingers. “And I feel like we’ve really gotten back on track, as friends, but—it’s also really hard.”

 

“What do you mean?” she breathes. “How is it hard?”

 

He stares down at their feet, kicking lightly at the gravel of her driveway. “It’s just felt like we’re…more than that.”

 

Jemma puffs out a laugh, stepping closer to him. “Ftiz, we _are_ more than that. We’ve talked about this—“

 

“We actually haven’t,” he cuts her off. There’s a half-smile on his face, the lazy kind that she adores, and it only intensifies her desire to hold him close and drag him back into her house where he belongs. “And that’s good, because we need to get back to ourselves before we can move further than this.”

 

Her face falls in disappointment and she makes no effort to hide it. “It’s been weeks,” she reminds him. “And like you said, we’re doing so well. I don’t see why we keep having to prolong the inevitable.”

 

He snorts. “I see what you did there.”

 

Rolling her eyes, she tucks her arms beneath his, circling around his waist. His hand comes up to the back of her head, brushing through her hair as she rests her cheek on his shoulder.

 

“I’ll miss you,” she mumbles against his shirt collar.

 

He pulls back, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “C’mon, we’ll still see each other nearly every day.”

 

“Promise?” she asks. He nods fervently, kissing her cheek.

 

“Promise. Let’s get you inside, it’s past your curfew.”

 

She rolls her eyes and lets him take her hand, leading her back to the front door. Sure, she’d rather he join her, but she also knows how important it is to let him set his own boundaries. It had been something he’d worked on with Mack for months and months, and she doesn’t want to undo any of his therapist’s hard work. He comes in with her briefly, grabbing a few of his things and making sure she has everything she needs.

 

“Was it a good first night back out? Even with the drama,” Fitz asks, lingering in the doorway. She snuggles further into the blankets, one hand stroking Widget’s back.

 

She crinkles her nose and smiles. “It was great, Fitz. Even with the drama.”

 

He drums his fingers on the door frame, grinning back at her. “I’ll see you tomorrow night?”

 

“You’d better.”

 

He’s nearly halfway down the stairs when he hears her call out to him again.

  
“And you’d better bring food!”

 

His laugh echoes through the house and he locks the door behind him. She sighs, flicking on her TV and hoping to find something that will distract her racing thoughts. This is her first night attempting to sleep without Fitz since the accident, and she knows she’s going to have difficulty drifting off. The added pressure of her swirling thoughts regarding John Garrett and a potential plot to injure her certainly doesn’t help.

 

She doesn’t fall asleep until the early hours of the morning.


	15. One Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma starts to do some research into her accident on her own and a talk with Trip reveals more missing pieces. A casual dinner with Fitz turns into a bit more than that.

She sits at her desk and sifts through every bit of information she can find about Grant Ward on the Internet. Fitz has already gone through most of it, but he also doesn’t have the same eye for detail that she does. Finding out that Ward is Garrett’s godson is quite simple. Photos of the two of them are plastered across web pages for Garrett’s film premieres and both of their bios on IMDB. If this is Fitz’s best connection between the two men, he obviously didn’t have to look very far to find it.

 

She tugs her white legal pad closer, clicking her favorite green pen and opening up the window for Facebook. Her private account, expertly hidden by Melinda, has very few friends but Kara is one of them. Jemma prefers not to post much on it, just in case, but likes to follow the goings-on of her less glitzy friends. She clicks on the search bar, typing in ‘Kara Palamas’ and frowning when nothing comes up.

 

Kara either blocked her or deleted her Facebook page entirely, which seems out of the question given that Kara’s Instagram and Facebook are a huge contribution to her business as a makeup artist. Jemma unlocks her phone next and opens up the Instagram app—Kara’s account is also nowhere to be found on that particular channel.

 

“What on earth?” she murmurs to herself. She writes both social media outlets down on the paper and makes a note that both are either deleted or have blocked her. It would be one thing to be nervous to speak to Jemma after the accident, perhaps some misplaced guilt on Kara’s part—but to completely freeze her out, or essentially close down her own business? Something feels _very_ suspicious and for the first time since her conversation with Fitz on the way home from dinner, she begins to think that perhaps something more sinister than a mistake is at play.

 

Almost every trace of her friend and Ward has been scrubbed from the web. The only remainder is Ward’s IMDB page. In this industry, it doesn’t make financial sense to go dark. So much of their business is based on a curated image and personality; bringing viewers in through giving them personal insight into your life is a key part of many hiring decisions, even for a stuntman.

 

She exits out of the window on her screen and leans back in her chair, staring at her notes. She still can’t piece anything really tangible together, and she’s not sure how she’ll ever be able to.

 

In the face of this insurmountable obstacle, she decides to call the one person who always manages to put a smile on her face. Checking the time, she sees that it’ll still be the afternoon in Scotland. She smiles and picks up her phone, dialing Fitz’s mum.

 

“Jemma, dear!” she answers almost immediately. “I’ve been waiting to hear from you.”

 

“I know,” Jemma grimaces. “Sorry for not calling sooner. Your son seemed to think that talking on a phone would kill me.”

 

Brenda laughs, a hearty and familiar sound that eases the tension in Jemma’s shoulders. She stands and walks out of her office, opting to have this conversation from the couch downstairs. She curls up into the corner and pulls a knitted blanket over her feet, Widget immediately hopping up to join her.

 

“My Leo is certainly protective of you,” Brenda says wistfully. “I’ll still being seeing you both next week, I assume?”

 

“Of course,” Jemma smiles into the phone. “We’d never have a Christmas without you, Brenda.”

 

“Only because you both know there’d be hell to pay,” she teases. “How are you feeling, love?”

 

“I’m great!” Jemma chirps. “I’m just feeling ready to get back to work.”

 

There’s a beat of silence on the other end of the line and Jemma squirms in her seat. “Tell me the truth.”

 

She sucks in a breath and runs her hand over Widget’s soft fur in an effort to seek some comfort. “What is it they say, about mums always being able to hear a lie?”

 

“Whoever says that is talking about me,” Brenda says gently. “I know you as well as my own.”

 

“And better than my parents seem to know me,” Jemma snorts a bit bitterly.

 

“Did they make the trip out after the fall?” Brenda asks. Jemma can practically picture her disapproving frown; Brenda Fitz had _never_ liked her parents.

 

Jemma swallows hard. “No, they didn’t. Dad is producing a show in London and Mum just…well, I’m not really sure why. Some excuse or other.”

 

Brenda clears her throat. “Well you know you always have me, my darling. So tell me what’s going on in that brilliant and beautiful head of yours, hm?”

 

“I’m scared,” Jemma admits, her voice cracking. “I still have dreams about it, sometimes. The same kind I have about Fitz—Leo, sorry. They feel so _real_ , like I’m back there again. I can feel myself falling all over again and I wake up just before impact and it’s—I don’t know, Brenda. I’m sure I’ll be okay but--”

 

“Stop that,” Brenda scolds. “You nearly died, pet. No shame in taking your sweet damn time getting over it, do you understand me?”

 

Jemma giggles, a little bit watery. “Yes, ma’am. Fi--Leo thinks that the stunt coordinator did it on purpose. It’s a bit of a paranoid conspiracy theory, you know how he can be, but the more that I think about it the more it might make sense.”

 

“He’s told me all about it,” Brenda says. “All of you Hollywood types have these crazy ideas and it sounds mad to me but he seems to believe it. It’s hard to get him off of an idea once it’s stuck in his head, innit? He’s like a dog with a bone.”

 

“You’ve no idea,” Jemma sighs in exasperation. Her mind drifts to his steadfast insisting that they take things at a snail’s pace. She shakes herself of this line of thought. “And now I just feel so paranoid. If someone _meant_ to hurt me—maybe even kill me—that’s _horrifying._ I can’t even describe it.”

 

“You don’t need to tell me twice,” Brenda hums. “When Leo called me and told me what happened, I swear to you Jemma, my heart nearly gave out altogether! You’ll be home soon and we’ll have some nice chats and tea and those biscuits you love—“

 

“You make the _best_ biscuits,” Jemma smiles wistfully. “I’ll never want to come back here again.”

 

“When you get sick of that crazy place, you know there will _always_ be a place for you in my home. Always,” Brenda reminds her. “I’ve already got your room all set up. I’m quite excited to have you two back under my roof.”

 

Jemma laughs happily, picturing Brenda’s warm, comfy living room and the delicious smells of the kitchen. “I know. Although you really only needed to set up one room for us this time.”

 

Jemma bites her lip to prevent herself from laughing into the stunned silence on the other side of the phone. “Don’t _toy_ with me, Jemma Simmons. I’ve seen those photos from before your accident and then at your dinner the other day. Don’t you go getting my hopes up. My frail constitution can’t take it.”

 

She can’t hold back the chuckle that spills from her lips. “Frail constitution? I think not.”

 

 

“Out with it, Jemma.”

 

“We’re taking things slow,” Jemma tells her. “And if Leo hasn’t mentioned anything, then I don’t want to step on his toes so please don’t tell him that I told you.”

 

“You know how he is,” Brenda sighs. “Always so private, even with his own mum. But he did tell me a bit about you two, so you’re not the first.”

 

Jemma’s interest is piqued. “Oh _really?_ And what did he have to say?”

 

“I won’t tell him what you say, and I won’t tell you what he says,” Brenda says smugly. “The two of you are both right gossips, you know that?”

 

Jemma giggles. “We get that a lot, actually.”

 

“Oh dear, I’m going to be late for tea with Rebecca. But I’m so glad you called, love. I’ll see you next week and if you ever need anything you know I’m just a call away.”

 

“I know, Brenda,” Jemma says softly. “Just hearing your voice really helped.”

 

“You be safe now. I want you both here on time and in one piece.”

 

“Understood. Have a nice afternoon.”

 

“And you as well, darling.”

 

She hangs up the phone, feeling significantly less anxious now that she’s spoken with Brenda. She can’t help but wonder what Fitz had told his mum about them. Presumably he wouldn’t have told her about their one and only foray into the more physical aspects of potential relationship, but perhaps he’d discussed the fallout with her. She can only imagine what kind of advice Brenda would have given him.

 

With nothing else to really do with her day, Jemma decides to get some fresh air and take Widget for a walk. She puts on an exercise outfit and Nikes, grabbing her headphones and the leash. As soon as Widget sees the leash, she goes wild with whining and hopping, making Jemma laugh as the dog circles around her feet.

 

There are more photographers than usual around the house and she sighs, heaving Widget into her arms and unlocking her car. She’d rather go for a short drive and take Widget to a park than have flashing cameras and shouting paparazzi following them for their usual mile-long walk. Poor Widget doesn’t always react the best to all of the trappings of fame.

 

“Come on, my humble little pet,” she murmurs to Widget, hand ruffling her head. “No need for the La La Land drama today, hm?”

 

She drives down to Griffith Park, hoping that she’ll be able to remain fairly incognito on a Thursday afternoon. For good measure, she pulls out the black baseball cap and sunglasses she keeps in her backseat and puts them on after she’s parked.

 

Widget trots in front of her to the tune of a playlist she’d put together with Inevitable in mind. Each song reminds her of a different one of the parallel universes in the film, and she smiles as a jazzy number comes on, reminiscent of the fifth universe in which her character is a flapper. She’s so caught up in the song, watching her little dog’s feet patter on the dirt trail, that she doesn’t notice someone come up behind her and place their hand on her shoulder. She gasps loudly, an earbud wrenching out of her ear as she spins wildly and strikes outward.

 

She makes contact with Trip’s chest and he backs up with his hands up. “Woah, girl!”

 

“Oh my God,” she pants, one hand over her heart. “I’m so sorry, Trip.”

 

“Nah, it’s my bad,” he grimaces. “Taking Widge for a little walk?”

 

Jemma laughs as her dog leaps up onto Trip, her fully outstretched body only reaching his knees. Trip bends down, covered in a sheen of sweat from his run, and pets the dog enthusiastically.

 

“Mhm. We were both a bit bored at home I’m afraid,” Jemma smiles. “Care to join us? Unless you’ve got to continue running.”

 

He laughs warmly, beginning to walk as Jemma follows along beside him. “I actually just finished up. A walk sounds like a good cool down. I’m digging the undercover celebrity look, by the way.”

 

Jemma rolls her eyes beneath her sunglasses. “I know, it’s awful. It seemed worth a shot. There was a _swarm_ outside of my gate when I left. I was just going to walk her down the block but that obviously wasn’t going to work out.”

 

“Everyone wants the big scoop,” he shrugs.

 

“I know,” she sighs. “And I understand that they’re making a living, I just wish they didn’t have to harass me to do it.”

 

Trip chuckles and throws an arm around her, giving her a little squeeze. “I know, it’s frustrating. I had to stop going to my usual gym. Hence the running.”

 

“How awful!” Jemma commiserates. They make small talk for several minutes before Jemma finally gets an opportunity to ask about him and Skye.

 

“It’s going really well,” he beams. She can’t help but grin back at his ecstatic face. “I dunno, she’s just—she’s so _cool.”_

 

“She really is quite lovely, isn’t she?” Jemma encourages. “How did it happen?”

 

“Well we spent that whole night together after the GQ party,” he explains, eyes shining with the memory. “We went back to her place and straight up played Mario Kart until like, six in the morning.”

 

Jemma snorts. “Only Skye. And only you, come to think of it.”

 

He laughs with a nod. “You don’t have to tell me. So then I asked her out to dinner and the rest is pretty much history. It’s going really well, though. She’s been crazy busy filming Mary Sue though.”

 

“To think,” Jemma can’t help but tease, “if you’d just taken the job offer for the show, you could’ve been together even longer.”

 

 _And perhaps Fitz and I would actually be together, instead of this strange limbo we’re in,_ she thinks to herself.

 

“Don’t remind me!” he groans, head rolling back in exasperation with himself. “Especially since I’m not even working on anything at all right now.”

 

“Did the Night Circus not pan out?” she asks curiously.

 

Trip shakes his head. “Nah, it was gonna be Garrett’s movie.”

 

Jemma freezes. “Not with Shield, right?”

 

Trip shakes his head. “No, no, he was working on something else with them. That was some indie flick. He didn’t even audition anyone for the lead, just hired some unknown. Night Circus was going to be his bigger budget project next year but when the studio heard about his issues at Shield, they dropped that one too.”

 

Jemma’s heart pounds violently, her breathing turning rather shallow. Her limbs tingle with panic and she stills completely.

 

“Not Grant Ward,” Jemma whispers. It’s unclear if it’s a statement or a question and Trip frowns at her with concern.

 

“Are you okay?” he asks, putting his hands on her shoulders and looking at her carefully. “Jemma?”

 

“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” Jemma says, attempting a smile. It falls flat and Trip obviously doesn’t buy it.

 

“Girl, I’ve known you for years. You’re not fine.”

 

“It’s just…what if the lead actor in that movie that Fitz and I bumped was _Ward.”_

“The stunt coordinator from your accident?” Trip asks. “Oh man. That would be pretty crazy.”

 

“It would be,” Jemma agrees. “But Ward is Garrett’s godson. Kara had mentioned before that Ward was always interested in actually acting, not just being a stuntman.”

 

“And when he got dropped from one project, he lost the other,” Trip says slowly, gears turning in his mind.

 

They exchange a heavy look. “So what I’m saying is, what if my accident was revenge?”

 

Trip swallows hard. “Damn, girl, that is _heavy_.”

 

“It is, isn’t it?” she mumbles darkly. “I’m sure I’m wrong. I think I’ve just been so scrambled lately, and with the way Fitz has been behaving I’m a bit paranoid.”

 

Trip shrugs. “I don’t know. It may not be so crazy.”

 

Hearing level-headed, calm Antoine Triplett confirm that Fitz’s, and now her, suspicions may not be entirely off-base is both validating and terrifying. The logic is clearly there, and his agreement is the last straw that allows her to truly consider the possibility. Regardless, she can hardly wrap her mind around it.

 

“But why would someone go so far as to do that?” she questions. “It just seems so horribly extreme. I could have been killed.”

 

“Garrett _is_ known for his temper. I worked with him on a project a few years back. Remember that movie I did, Operative? It was awful. He has some pretty violent outbursts on set when things weren’t going his way.”

 

This does nothing to calm her and she bites her lip so hard that she tastes blood. Her first instinct is to tell Fitz all of this, but she’s also afraid of what might come of that, so she decides to try to find some more information for herself before she informs him.

 

“I suppose you’re right,” she finally says. “But as I was telling Fitz, it’s over now.”

 

Trip raises his eyebrows. “That’s it? Someone coulda tried to kill you, at the very least seriously injure you, and you’re just gonna say that it’s over now?”

 

“Well there’s no real way to get proof of anything,” Jemma counters. “All I want is to move forward and get to work on Fitz and my project.”

 

“Get to work on Fitz, huh?” Trip smirks mischievously.

 

This breaks the tension of the moment and pulls a surprised giggle from her. She bats at him, cheeks heating up with embarrassment.

 

“You know what I meant!” she exclaims, still laughing.

 

“I did know what you meant,” Trip grins. “And I think we both know it’s what you want me to think you meant.”

 

Jemma blinks for a moment, trying to follow his statement, and then smacks at his chest. “You’re ridiculous, Trip.”

 

“Something like that,” he agrees amiably. They find themselves in the parking lot once again. “Alright, I oughta get going. It was good to run into you.”

 

“You too!” Jemma says, hugging him quickly with a wrinkled nose. “Ugh, you smell. Go clean yourself.”

 

“I prefer the term _manly musk,”_ he jokes. He unlocks his car a few over from hers and waves. “See you later, Jemma. Bye Widget!”

 

Her dog tries to follow Trip for a moment, tugging on the leash before she resigns herself to the fact that her latest friend is leaving. Jemma picks her up and puts her in the front seat of her car, getting ready to drive them back.

 

She has no idea what to do with the information that she learned on her stroll with Trip, but she doesn’t have long to figure it out. She’s going to Fitz’s apartment for dinner in just a few hours, and she’ll either have to share it with him or keep it to herself and let this entire thing be left behind them.

 

***

 

She lets herself into his apartment with arms full of groceries, huffing from the exertion of shuffling through a crowd of photographers with full hands.

 

“I swear, they’re never going to calm down,” she whines as soon as he rounds the corner into the hallway. He smiles at her, grabbing most of the bags from her in one swoop. She stares at him for a long moment, forgetting all about Ward and Garrett and how it felt to fall toward the ground.

 

“You know they will. After the Will stuff they eventually left us both alone, remember?”

 

“Fitz, someone almost broke into your home,” Jemma reminds him with a raised brow. He grimaces and shakes his head.

 

“Alright, maybe not the best example. Thanks for getting the supplies.”

 

Jemma clucks her tongue with an impish little smile. “He says, as if he does not expect me to make the food.”

 

He grins back shyly and scratches behind his ear. “Well I’m not exactly a chef.”

 

Jemma laughs and starts unloading the groceries on the counter. “You know I don’t mind. I enjoy it, actually. Besides, you took very good care of me. My turn now.”

 

He crinkles his face and leans against the countertop beside her, arms crossed over his chest. “Filming was a nightmare today.”

 

“Did you get the finale script?” she asks, trying to keep the nervousness out of her voice. For good measure, she hands him the bottle of wine she bought, hoping he’ll open it. He sets about doing so with no other prompting.

 

“We did. Skye and I break up about halfway through it,” he beams. “I’m done with it after this.”

 

She tries to hide her smile but she fails, beaming at him happily. “You’ll be free to focus on whatever you’d like!”

 

He steps toward her as he offers her a glass of wine, leaning in a bit closer than is strictly necessary. “So, Simmons, we can do whatever we want.”

 

She stalls for time by sipping at her drink, eyes glistening over the rim. “What do you think we should do about it?”

 

She’s been doing her best to keep the ball in his court and not push the issue of progressing their relationship. She’s secure in the knowledge that he wants to be with her when he feels they’re ready—and she knows for certain that she’s willing to wait for him, no matter how agitating or painful it may be. Jemma understands his hesitation; he’s not the only one scared to lose what they already have together as friends and partners.

 

“For now…let’s just have dinner,” he says softly, lazy smile in place and a half-apology in his eyes. She swallows down her disappointment and nods.

 

“Lovely,” she eventually settles on.

 

Just as she’s about to turn away from him, he grabs her arm and turns her back around gently. Her breath catches, both because of their even closer proximity and the fact that her wine nearly spills on his light grey button down. She loves the color on him and she’d really hate to spill red wine on it.

 

Before she can think too much about that, Fitz cups one hand over her cheek, brushing her cheekbone softly with his thumb.

 

“Heard you talked to my mum today,” he whispers.

 

She can’t help the teasing grin on her face. “You really want to talk about your mum? Right now?”

 

He rolls his eyes toward the ceiling before nuzzling his nose against hers. Her smirk slowly falls from her face when his hand moves into her hair and his lips fall on hers, slowly and gently. It’s a soft and simple kiss but it sets her on fire and she leans forward to keep contact as long as possible as he breaks away from her.

 

“I think we should have one room too,” he murmurs. She nods breathlessly.

 

_Oh, Brenda, you tricky minx._

 

“Right. Yes, one room. Good.”

 

He chuckles and steps back to pull a knife out of the block on the counter. “Alright, what am I chopping? You’re awful with a knife.”

 

Just like that, they slip back into their usual patterns as though he hadn’t just weakened her knees with one kiss. The only evidence of it is the light pink flush on his neck and ears, telling her that he was just as dazzled by it as she was despite his attempt at nonchalance.

 

“Shush, you. Chop up those bell peppers please.”

 

“Aye aye, captain,” he grins, giving her a little salute before he gets to work. Jemma turns some music on through his speakers, working in silence beside him as she browns the sausage for what Fitz refers to as “the best lasagna in the world”. There’s something about his body language that tells her he’s dying to ask her something. She decides to let him come out with it on his own. Pushing him sometimes leads to a fight and she’d hate for that to happen.

 

“You looked comfortable with Trip today,” he finally says over the sound of the acoustic music that reminds her of Universe 6 in their project. She hadn’t put them in any particular chronological order and she briefly thinks about how she should have. Then she thinks of the conversation she’s meant to be having and tunes back in with a sharp look in his direction.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Someone put up pictures of you two at Griffith,” he says tightly. She pulls her phone out of her pocket with a sigh. Indeed, photos of herself and Trip are plastered on TMZ. Whoever took the pictures seemed to only catch the brief moment where he threw his arm around her and then attempted to comfort her by putting his hands on her shoulders while he talked to her.

 

“Fitz, come on,” Jemma says exasperatedly. “You can’t honestly think anything is going on with me and Trip.”

 

“Well, no, I mean…he’s with Skye,” Fitz fumbles. “But you know how he used to feel about you.”

 

“That was years ago!” Jemma scoffs.

 

“Yeah, it was. I just wasn’t sure if you felt—like you should have done something back then,” Fitz admits. He painstakingly cuts the bell pepper in front of him to avoid her glance.

 

“I don’t regret not being with Trip,” she tells him easily and honestly. “I wasn’t interested then and I’m certainly not interested now. We ran into each other and someone with a cell phone camera took out of context photos.”

 

He visibly relaxes with a little smile in her direction. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense. You know how I can be.”  


“Yes, Fitz, I know,” she smiles, a bit pleased that he’s feeling some level of jealousy.

 

Halfway through the next song, he glances over at her with a thoughtful expression.

 

“Hey, this song sounds just like the third universe in Inevitable, doesn’t it?”

 

It’s exactly what she’d been thinking of when she’d put it on this playlist and she makes no effort to control herself. The overwhelming urge to be close to him consumes her and she puts down the wooden spoon in her hand decisively, striding over to him in two steps.

 

He blinks in confusion, immediately dropping the knife when she grabs him and spins him around, pushing him into the counter and tugging him down to her in a demanding kiss. She sucks his bottom lip into her mouth possessively, drawing a shocked gasp from him as his hands slam into the cabinet to steady himself. For a moment she’s worried that she’s pushed this too far, but then he begins to kiss her back in earnest, one hand wrapping around her waist. She pushes her knee between his legs, forcing them open so that she can stand between them.

 

Jemma pushes herself as close to him as she can, groaning lightly when she feels the press of him against her through his jeans. Her fingers tangle in the collar of his shirt as her earlier concerns regarding the integrity of the material fly out of the window.

 

His tongue slides into her mouth, teasing her quickly and drawing a breathy sigh out of her as her hips buck forward against his. His lips still for a moment, hot breath filling the small gap between them. Her nails run lightly down the sides of his neck, trailing down to his chest.

 

Then something in Fitz breaks and one hand grips onto her hip while the other palms the back of her head. He pushes off of the counter and before she knows it, he’s shoved her against the refrigerator, his hand taking the brunt of the push rather than the back of her skull. She nearly giggles at the thoughtfulness of it, even in this heady and reckless moment. She forgets what she thought was funny when his mouth wanders from hers down her neck.

 

She arches against him, practically shoving her breasts up against his chin. His hands wander over her almost desperately, grabbing at every inch that he can reach.

 

“Jemma,” he gasps out as he bends down to kiss his way toward her breasts. He gives up on the awkward slouching and falls to his knees in front of her. Her fingers grip the fridge door in anticipation.

 

He lifts the hem of her shirt slowly, more tentatively than anything else, and she looks down to meet his eyes with an approving (and rather overwhelmed) smile. This apparently dissipates his shyness and he nips at the skin just above the waistline of her jeans. Her hips move on their own accord and he undoes the snap on her jeans with deft hands. She leans forward to allow him to yank them down—

 

_BEEP. BEEP. BEEP._

The shrill screech of his smoke alarm over the heavy alternative rock beat of the song playing over the speakers startles them both. Fitz falls backward onto the floor and Jemma falls forward, hand pulling the fridge door with her as she topples down to the floor directly over him. Her knee lands on his stomach and he coughs out a pained sound. Her forehead bangs against the cabinet behind him and they meet eyes, him trying desperately to catch his breath after having the wind knocked out of him and her rubbing her forehead and groaning.

 

They both practically choke on their laughter and Jemma finally scrambles up, jeans still unbuttoned as she searches out the offending smoke detector to turn it off. Fitz doesn’t move from his spot on the floor; he just drags himself toward the stove and clicks it off with his back against the cabinet directly next to it. Jemma opens the kitchen window, grateful for the cover of plants he has in front of it, and collapses onto the floor beside him. She leans her head against his shoulder and his hand comes to rest on her knee.

 

Now that the spell is broken, she has the grace to feel apologetic about throwing herself at sweet, unsuspecting Fitz as he tried to chop bell peppers.

 

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, half-sorry and fully mortified. She hopes she hasn’t ruined everything, but it’s hard to regret something that has her pulse racing like she’s just heard her name called as the winner at the Oscars at seventeen years old.

 

“I knew I was good at chopping veggies but I should really do it more often if that’s the response I get,” he teases. She giggles slightly and then kicks at his ankle lightly.

 

“I’m serious. I know you want to go slow, and I took an inch and went a mile—“

 

“Hey, I wasn’t complaining,” he interrupts. He turns his head to look at her, resting his cheek against the cabinet. “Really, Jemma. I’m—very happy with everything that just happened, although we’re probably gonna have to come up with something else to eat for dinner.”

 

He bumps his forehead against hers gently, squeezing her leg, and she feels all of her guilt seep out of her body. The distinct smell of burnt sausage finally starts to dawn on her and she nuzzles against him before pulling back.

 

“How does going out for Italian sound?” she asks. “I’m afraid I’ve made your apartment smell like a sausage factory fire.”

 

He scrunches his face in an adorably disgusted expression. “That’s truly an image I could have gone without. Yeah, let’s get out of here.”

 

“I didn’t…I didn’t knee your um—your _disco stick_ did I?”

 

He’s halfway up when she says it and he immediately falls back to the floor, hands slapping over his face. “Oh my God, Jemma.”

 

Her face heats up and she presses her hands to her own cheeks. “Well I don’t know, I wasn’t sure if you were okay to move yet!”

 

She reaches out a hand to him, helping him back up as he licks his lips, opens his mouth to speak, and then closes it again. He shakes his head slowly, walking away to grab his wallet and keys off of the coffee table.

 

“What the hell am I gonna do with you?”

 

“Hopefully something like that again,” she teases, jerking her head toward the refrigerator.

 

He captures his bottom lip between his teeth, hand on her lower back as he walks her to the door. She shrugs on her jacket in the hallway and he leans against the wall.

 

“You’re a genuine _flirt,_ Jemma Simmons.”

 

She shrugs, glancing at him over her shoulder.

 

“I’ll remind you that you started this.”

 

He holds open the door and watches her walk out of the apartment, shaking himself once again. He can’t quite believe that _this_ is his life.

 

They still haven’t talked about what the hell they’re doing but somehow it feels like they’ve come to an understanding about it. He clicks the button for the elevator that will take them down to the parking garage of his building and she bumps her hip against his, intertwining their hands. He gives hers a little squeeze just as the elevator dings.

 

“Hey, is this our first date?” he asks as she presses the button labeled “G” for garage.

 

Jemma scrunches up her face in thought. “I’ve sort of been considering that night at Thai food as a date.”

 

He beams back at her, leaning against the bar on the elevator wall and admiring the view of her, her hair rumpled from his hands (and the post-hookup chaos but he’s not including that in this particular equation).

 

“I actually have been too.”

 

The elevator dings their arrival at their stop and he can’t hold himself back.

 

“Hey Jemma?”

 

She turns around, eyes coy and lips quirked up. “Yes?”

 

“Your pants are still undone.”

 

He receives a smack to the arm for his efforts at protecting her image, but she doesn’t move away when he pulls her close by the waist and he figures that he’ll let her fall on top of him and shove him against counters and smack his chest as long as she wants to, as long as she stays.


	16. Burbank to Glasgow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright folks, it's FINALLY here. I'm going to make it a goal of mine to update this every Saturday--school and home life has been a bit crazy, though, so forgive me if I miss it every now and again. 
> 
> Also, a HUGE shoutout to SuburbanSun for being an AMAZING beta for this chapter.

“Here’s all of her toys,” Fitz says, handing over a duffle bag to Phil. The older man watches with eyebrows raised as Jemma stands beside him, murmuring into her little dog’s ear. “She eats at 9 a.m. and then at 4 p.m., just one scoop of food each time. Put a bit of water in it, though.” 

 

“Fitz,” Phil interrupts. “I’ve watched Widget every time you both go somewhere.” 

 

“Well, here’s her vet’s phone number,” Fitz continues, gesturing to a note taped to Widget’s bag. “Just in case.” 

 

“And you can call us anytime,” Jemma adds.

 

Phil chuckles and grabs the dog out of her arms. “Go, you two. You’re like a couple of helicopter parents.” 

 

Fitz and Jemma exchange an embarrassed glance and Jemma shakes herself. “You’re right. We’re leaving now.” 

 

“Don’t forget, May chartered you out of Burbank, not LAX,” Phil reminds them. “And call me when you land.” 

 

“Now who’s being a helicopter parent?” Fitz teases. 

 

“We’ll call,” Jemma says with a smile. “And we’ll still Skype on Christmas?” 

 

“Of course,” Phil agrees. “Mel and I will be here, same as always.” 

 

Fitz and Jemma share a meaningful look. They’ve always wanted their managers to end up together, and every time they spend Christmas just the two of them, that wish only grows larger. 

 

“Great,” Fitz says. They say their goodbyes and head back to Jemma’s car, where their suitcases are waiting in the trunk. 

 

“Sometimes I think you worry about Widge more than I do,” Jemma says. He crosses his arms and leans back in the passenger seat. 

 

“It’s a really big world out there, and she is  _ very  _ small,” Fitz defends. “Watching her walk around anywhere is like that time I tried to keep tabs on you at Coachella.” 

 

“Oh please, Fitz, I was perfectly fine.” 

 

“Jemma, you nearly got  _ trampled,”  _ he reminds her. She rolls her eyes and gets onto the freeway toward Bob Hope Airport. 

 

“Yes, well, it was your idea to attend anyway,” she says. “Speaking of, did you hear Hunter’s band was approached to play? They haven’t announced anything, obviously, but he’ll likely be playing on the main stage at some point.” 

 

Fitz groans. “We’re going to have to go, aren’t we?” 

 

“I repeat, it was  _ your _ idea to go last time.” 

 

“I just don’t think there’s ever any need for that many flower crowns and that much body paint,” he huffs. “Besides, it was too hard to keep track of you, and you wound up in that sketchy van.” 

 

“You’ll never let me forget that,” she retorts. 

 

“Of course I won’t,” he shoots back. 

 

“So I assume you won’t be coming with me if Hunter plays?” Jemma asks. He misses the little smirk on her face and stiffens. 

 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says, a bit testily. “Of course I’d come with you. Someone’s got to keep you out of strange vans.” 

 

She grins, checking her side mirrors during a lane change. She spots a teenager in the backseat of a passing car taking a photo of them through the window. 

 

“Fitz, smile for this kid, would you?” 

 

He groans, but leans forward ever so slightly, giving the excited teen a close-mouthed smile. 

 

“It’s too early for that,” he complains. 

 

“You’ll sleep all the way to Scotland.” He nods, leaning his face against the leather of the seat and looking over at her. His hand rests on hers where it rests on the gear shifter and he absently plays with her fingers.

 

“It’ll be good for us to get away, don’t you think?” he asks. 

 

“Oh absolutely,” Jemma agrees. “I’m quite looking forward to it. And it’s been ages since we’ve seen your mum.” 

 

“I think she’s more excited to see you than she is to see me,” he jokes. Rather than denying it, Jemma just shrugs noncommittally. 

 

“I can’t confirm or deny that,” she teases back. 

 

He grins, shutting his eyes against the morning light and listening to her talk about all of the things she wants to do while they’re in Scotland. At no point does she mention making a trip to Sheffield to see her family, and he chooses not to comment on that. It had taken him a very long time to understand that her relationship with her parents is quite different from the one that he has with his mother, and he’d long ago stopped pushing her into awkward dinners she didn’t want to be at. 

 

She pulls into the lot at the airport and he jumps out to get their bags before she has the chance. Jemma pauses slightly, still adjusting to these new aspects of her relationship with Fitz. He’s always been fairly thoughtful, but it’s the little things—carrying her bags, rushing to open doors for her, even hesitating before eating the last piece of gyoza when they get takeout—that have taken her a bit off guard lately. 

 

She’s not entirely sure that she  _ likes  _ these changes. He’d never treated her poorly before, and she isn’t really one to enjoy being doted on—but if pulling out the chair for her makes him happy, then she supposes that she can allow it. 

 

Jemma isn’t sure when, exactly, she got used to flying in private planes, but the ritual of checking in to their designated gate is second nature now. They don’t even have to arrive early; they basically step right onto their chartered plane, the same one that May always books for them. May is particularly picky about pilots, planes, and safety features, which had been helpful back in the days when Fitz was afraid to fly. 

 

It’s not a huge plane, even though Bobbi always teasingly refers to it as Air Force One (as if the plane she takes to Fashion Week isn’t twice as spacious). The seats are large, though, and recline all the way back like beds. As soon as they sit down, Jemma raises the arm rest all the way up, getting rid of the only barrier between their chairs. Fitz looks incredibly chuffed by it and she smiles to herself as she gazes out of the window. 

 

And that’s when it hits her: that she’s about to be extremely high in the air for the first time since The Fall, as she’s been calling it in her head. She’s always preferred the window seat and she doesn’t want to worry Fitz by suddenly switching now, so she settles in with a nervous little smile and lets him chat with their pilots briefly before he joins her. 

 

“I told May we didn’t need an attendant,” Fitz informs her. “Hope that’s okay.” 

 

“More than okay,” Jemma says a bit shakily as the engine roars to life beneath her. Her hand grips the blanket laid across her lap. He reaches for her free hand and she snatches it back. 

 

“Jemma?” Fitz asks, obviously worried. “What’s going on?” 

 

The plane accelerates, racing down the runway. Her hands fly to her seatbelt and she tightens it to the point of pain. 

 

“Jemma?” he says again. “Jemma, what’s going on?” 

 

The wheels lift off of the ground and she grits her teeth, screwing her eyes shut. “I think I’ve developed a bit of a fear of heights.” 

 

Judging by the way her heart is threatening to break free from her ribcage, that’s really the understatement of the century, but she’s never been one for dramatics. Despite her career choice, she likes to keep a low-profile when it comes to her own emotions. 

 

“Fuck. Jemma, I’m such an idiot. We should’ve stayed in L.A.” 

 

“Stop,” she snaps. “I’m fine. I’m fine.” 

 

She takes slow, steady breaths and opens her eyes, keeping them focused directly in front of her and not risking a glance out of the window. Despite their pilot’s usual instructions to stay seated and buckled, Fitz unlatches his belt and the sound of it sets her off again. 

 

She sucks in a desperate breath, unable to feel anything other than the overwhelming sense of plummeting back to Earth. Her fingers clench around her own seatbelt and Fitz rustles through her purse in search of her Xanax. He’s certain that she’s brought them, and he finally finds the bottle—but not before he catches a glimpse at the folded sheet of paper beneath it in her bag. 

 

_ Casting director: Jasper Sitwell  _

 

_ Ward – lead male, Garrett’s tabled project  _

 

_ Project officially cancelled: November 17 _ _ th _

 

_ Kara asks about Ward Stunt Coord.: November 18 _ _ th _

 

_ Accident: November 20  _

 

Shaking himself, he pries open her pill bottle and rushes to hand her one along with a bottle of water. 

 

“There you go,” he soothes. He kneels in front of her where she can properly see him. 

 

“Hey, Jemma, it’s okay. You’re alright, promise,” he murmurs. “Just focus on my voice, yeah? We’ve taken this plane all around the world, remember? Not one bad thing has ever happened. We’ve got a great pilot. You know May wouldn’t hire anything less. There’s walls, see?” 

 

He knocks his hand on the side of the plane beside her and she twitches, but nods. He continues talking, blathering on about his mother’s biscuits and how excited he is to give her the Christmas present he got her. He rambles about the possibility of popping down to England to see Bobbi and Hunter while they’re all in the UK, and slowly but surely, she begins to relax. He finally has the sense to snap the window cover shut. 

  
“Don’t know why it took me so long to think of  _ that,”  _ he jokes. He sits back down in his chair beside her and she unbuckles her seatbelt with trembling fingers. “You’re fine, Jemma. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you. You know that.” 

 

“Thank you, Fitz,” she whispers. 

 

He shakes his head. “Don’t do that. I’m glad to help. You just relax. Why don’t you try to sleep?” 

 

She nods and lays her head down in his lap. He stays sitting up straight, despite his own previous exhaustion and how much he’d been looking forward to a lengthy nap on their comfy plane. He’s wide awake now.

 

The image of her handwriting scrawled on that scrap sheet of paper is burned into his mind, and if she wasn’t asleep on top of him, he’d rummage through her purse to look at it again. He forces himself to remain calm and reminds himself that Jemma is what really matters right now. Her many assurances that the accident had left her wholly unaffected have now been proven incorrect, and even she can’t deny that anymore. 

 

He makes a mental note to give Mack a call when they land. 

 

*** 

 

“Are you ready?” he asks her as he lifts his hand to knock on his mum’s door. Jemma just laughs, looking considerably more at ease now that they’re back on solid ground.

 

“She’s going to open it before you even knock, you know.” 

 

Brenda doesn’t disappoint. The door flies open and she grabs them each in one arm, pulling them forcefully down onto her. Their eyes meet from behind her curly mop of hair, and they’re both unable to hide their fond smiles. 

 

“Oh, my loves!” she gushes. “In you go, in you go. Leo, your room is all set up if you want to take yours and Jemma’s bags up there. Tea’s already on.” 

 

“How did you know exactly when we’d be here?” Fitz asks. His mum tuts with a fond shake of her head.

 

“Did you really think Phil wouldn’t call me as soon as you two landed?” she scoffs. Then she looks at Jemma. “I swear, he was quite bright as a boy. Don’t know what happened.” 

 

“Mum!” 

 

“Oh, hush. How was the trip?” 

 

“Great,” Fitz answers before Jemma can. “I’ll run these up, yeah?” 

 

Jemma’s purse, abandoned near the stairs, just so  _ happens  _ to end up with the other bags when he hauls them upstairs to his childhood bedroom. He’d wanted to get his mum a brand new place, somewhere spacious and huge, but she’d absolutely refused. Her steadfastness to stay had only grown since Penny’s death. Every time he visits, he’s glad that his mum is so stubborn. There’s nothing quite like being back in this room. 

 

It’s simple, just blues and greys with some classic film posters on the walls, his full-sized bed smashed into a corner. His and Jemma’s bags take up most of the free space in the room, and he knows they’ll need to unpack as soon as possible if they want to be able to get in and out of bed. Before he heads back down, he snatches the paper out of Jemma’s purse and looks at it one more time.

 

She’s drawn lines between events, circling names and scrawling phone numbers. On the back are notes from her phone call with Jasper Sitwell, the casting director for Garrett’s cancelled project. 

 

Whatever Jemma has discovered about Ward, she hasn’t shared it with him yet—but it feels  _ big.  _

 

His racing thoughts are cut off by Jemma’s musical laughter, mixing with his mum’s warm chuckles, and he shoves the paper into the desk drawer where he used to hide his journal. Fitz turns and thumps back down the stairs, only sparing the slightest of glances at Penny’s bedroom on his way down. 

 

“I swear that room gets smaller every time we visit,” Fitz says, sliding into a chair beside Jemma. She gives him a little smile and takes a sip of her tea, nodding toward the cup waiting for him exactly the way he likes it. 

 

“Well, I certainly know you’re not getting any larger,” Brenda clucks. “Are you eating enough out there?” 

 

Jemma snorts. “I assure you, he eats  _ plenty.”  _

 

“They’ve been showing your picture on posters for that show Mary Sue,” his mum says. “What’s that about?” 

 

Fitz sighs. “I signed on to help a friend—I’m in ten episodes, but I wrapped filming and I don’t have to go back next season.” 

 

Brenda hums, picking at the scone in front of her. “They didn’t use a very good picture of you.” 

 

“Mum!” 

 

Jemma, meanwhile, is thoroughly enjoying listening to his mother ribbing him. She always has, and she smiles even wider when Brenda pats his cheek. 

 

“I’m just taking the mickey, Leo,” she says. “You’re very handsome.” 

 

The next hour is spent catching up and talking. Jemma and Fitz took off from Burbank at 8:00 in the morning, but it’s the next day now. Fitz sees her eyes drooping with the effort to stay awake. 

 

“Why don’t you take a nap?” he suggests. “I’ll come wake you soon.” 

 

She shakes her head. “No, no, I’m fine.” 

 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Brenda insists. “Up you get. I’m sure Leo will be joining you soon.” 

 

He nods a bit eagerly. “I definitely will. I’m pretty tired myself.” 

 

“If you’re sure…” Jemma trails off. 

 

“If you don’t get some rest this instant, I’m going to drug your tea,” Brenda threatens. Jemma laughs and stands, making her way to the stairs. 

 

“Alright, alright. I’m going.” 

 

“Good girl,” Brenda praises. Fitz watches her go until he can’t see her anymore, and his mum takes the seat right next to him. “Alright, you. It’s the just the two of us now. Tell me everything.” 

 

He puts down his mug and takes a deep breath. Upstairs, Jemma sheds her jeans and her sweater, crawling underneath his heavy blankets with a contented sigh. Her eyes flutter shut as soon as they hit the pillow, but she’s not quite asleep—she can hear Fitz and Brenda talking, and wonders if they realize it.

 

“I could have lost her, Mum,” Fitz says tightly. 

 

“I’m sure her accident rattled you both—“ 

 

“No, not the accident. Before that. First I got our project sidelined by the studio, and then when I finally fixed it, I had signed onto Skye’s show and fucked it up again,” he explains. Jemma can picture him—hunched over, hands in fists on the tabletop. 

 

“Well, you worked it out,” Brenda says uncertainly. “Didn’t you?” 

 

“I mean, yeah. But I just—what if I do something like that  _ again?”  _ Fitz sounds  desperate now. “I can’t go through that again. It was only six months, but it was—it felt like forever.” 

 

The screech of a chair on the tile tells Jemma that Brenda has moved even closer to Fitz at the table. Her heart clenches painfully at Fitz’s blatant insecurity. Jemma wishes he could just trust himself a little bit more. 

 

“You weren’t in touch with her, but I was,” Brenda tells him. Jemma bites her lip, remembering how she’d asked his mother not to say anything.

 

“You were?” 

 

“Do you really think she’d leave me to grieve alone?” Brenda asks. “Jemma actually visited here, when she was doing that Hydra movie. We cried together and we packed up some of Penny’s things and she wouldn’t stop apologizing to me. For what happened to Penny, and for what had just happened to you.” 

 

Fitz is silent for a long moment. “I’ve been in love with her for a really long time, haven’t I?” 

 

Brenda’s laugh is loud and genuine. “Oh, pet. From the moment you walked out of the door of that casting office with the part, I knew you were ass-backwards in love with her.” 

 

Fitz snorts. “I figured it out when I was—oh, I dunno, nineteen maybe? She was so worked up over that model who dumped me and I couldn’t believe anyone other than you or Penny could care about me like that.” 

 

“Leo, Jemma knows you better than anyone else,” his mother says gently. “Even better than me. If she trusts you, then you’ve got to learn to trust yourself again. You made a couple of mistakes—“ 

 

“That could have ruined everything!” His voice is a frustrated growl. Jemma nearly misses it. 

 

“Do you really think a tabled project would ruin Jemma Simmons?” his mum challenges. “Because I hate to break it to you, Leo, but Jemma is far tougher than you give her credit for.” 

 

Jemma grins into the pillow. Of course she’s tougher than that. It had hurt, but she’d have just done another amazing film instead—she’s never done anything subpar and she’s not about to start now. 

 

“Life is incredibly short,” Brenda finally says. “It’s so very fragile. I think this family understands that better than anyone else, don’t you? So if Jemma wants to be with you—and I  _ know  _ that she does—you need to grab onto her and hold on as tightly as you can, for however long you can.” 

 

“You’re a right poet, Mum.” Fitz laughs, but Jemma knows every intonation of his voice; he’s bordering on tears. “I wanted to make sure that our friendship was back to where it was before anything else happened between us.” 

 

“I saw those photos from last week,” Brenda chides. “Something has already happened. I’m no fool. So you’d better make sure something  _ official  _ happens before she finds another man willing to be Jemma Simmons’ boyfriend!” 

 

“Mum!” Fitz groans. “You know that’s not the issue.” 

 

“I do,” she agrees. “But I think I’m struggling to figure out what the issue actually is, when two people who have been partners in love for nearly a decade can’t just  _ be together.”  _

 

Jemma hears another chair pushed back. 

 

“You’re right, Mum.” 

 

“As always.” 

 

There’s a brief shuffling, and she imagines him squeezing Brenda around the shoulders with one arm and dropping a kiss to her forehead like she’s seen him do so many times. 

 

“I’m gonna go rest. I love you.” 

 

“I love you too,” Brenda says. “I’ll wake you two in a couple of hours, so you’re not up all night.” 

 

Then she hears his footsteps on the stairs and she panics, trying to force her breath to even out in the way that would indicate she’s sleeping. He opens the door and she keeps her face as slack as possible while he kicks off his shoes and undresses. He pauses at the end of the bed, standing precariously on a small spot between two of their suitcases. 

 

“You’re awake,” he says simply before slipping in beside her. She tries to keep her face straight but she breaks, lips curving upward as she curls against him. 

 

“Couldn’t sleep quite yet,” she murmurs. “Did you have a nice chat with your mum?” 

 

“Mhm,” he hums, drawing her closer against him. “She’s full of infinite wisdom, that one.” 

 

Jemma breathes out a laugh against his collarbone and revels in the way he shivers. “Hey, Fitz?” 

 

“Yeah?” 

 

“Full disclosure—I heard all of that.” 

 

He snorts. “Jemma, I know you did.” 

 

“I just—I’m a horrible liar.” She winces. “And I didn’t want to be dishonest with you. She did make some really good points.” 

 

“I know she did,” he sighs into her hair. “This isn’t exactly how I wanted to talk about this.” 

 

She wriggles backwards so that she can see his face. “What do you mean?” 

 

He rolls his eyes. “Jemma, we’ve just travelled for nearly an entire day. We’re exhausted, you just overheard a conversation between me and my  _ mum,  _ you had a panic attack on the plane that we still need to talk about…” 

 

“We don’t need to talk about it.” 

 

“Yes we do,” he argues. He rolls over to better face her, arm tucked underneath his head. She’s temporarily distracted by the sight of him in the dim winter light. “You need to see someone. Talk about what’s bothering you. This is what you always do.” 

 

She exhales sharply through her nose. “I always do what, exactly, Fitz?” 

 

“You keep everything trapped in here,” he says quietly, tapping at her heart with his pointer finger. “And then one day you can’t anymore. The weight of the world is too much for you, Jemma.”

 

“I know something about Ward,” she blurts out. He grimaces guiltily. 

 

“Yeah, I kinda found that paper in your bag,” he admits. Her jaw drops. 

 

“And you didn’t tell me? Here I am, being honest with you,” she huffs. She’s mostly joking, but it does sting a little bit. 

 

“I found it on the plane, when I was looking for your pills,” he defends. “I had something way more important to be worried about.”

 

She softens as his hand begins to run up and down her side soothingly. “He was supposed to be the lead actor in the movie that got cut for ours.” 

 

“So all signs are pointing to sabotage,” Fitz muses. Jemma worries her lip between her teeth. 

 

“It’s not that I wasn’t going to tell you, Fitz…” 

 

“I know you were,” he interrupts. “But I see why you didn’t, because I’m—well, I’m furious at just the thought of it. We’re on vacation, it’s the holidays…” 

 

He inhales deeply and holds it for a moment, building himself up for something big. She waits anxiously for his next thought, immediately smiling when he says it. 

 

“So we won’t talk about the accident,” he says. “Or Ward, or Garrett, or any of it. This is just…Jemma and Leo, visiting his mum, yeah?” 

 

“I’d really like that,” she says, angling her face to place a soft kiss on his lips. His eyes flutter shut and she pulls away, quite pleased with how relaxed he looks. “Goodnight, Fitz.” 

 

“’Night, Jemma.” 

 

*** 

 

The next morning, Jemma wrestles him into a Christmas sweater from his own suitcase. 

 

“I told you I was bringing mine!” he yelps as she advances on him, holding the hideous thing toward him. 

 

“And I knew you wouldn’t, so I took it out of your closet,” she fires back. “Put it on, Leopold.” 

 

He grumpily snatches it from her hands; this particular monstrosity is red, with a large Santa with a real jingle bell on the tip of his hat and a fluffy beard. Jemma is already wearing her green sweater, emblazoned with a giant cartoon reindeer with a glowing red nose and glittery Christmas lights wrapped around his antlers. 

 

“I’m Rudolph and you’re Santa!” she reminds him. “You know how this goes.” 

 

“I just don’t see why we have to wear these every time we go tree shopping,” he whines even as he tugs the damned thing over his head. She just smiles at him sweetly. 

 

“Traditions are very important. And tradition dictates that we wear these goofy sweaters that Penny bought for us, and you and I go out and find the perfect Christmas tree.” 

 

“Perfect Christmas tree?” he scoffs. “Jemma, you always just pick the little fat ones.” 

 

“They’re cute!” she defends, as she does every single year. “And you always buy them for me anyway, so I think you think they’re cute, too.” 

 

She sticks her tongue out rather childishly and they make their way down the stairs. 

 

“I don’t think it’s the trees that win me over with their cuteness,” he says, a blush working its way over his face. He’s still not quite used to being able to flirt with her whenever he pleases. For her part, Jemma always takes it in stride. 

 

“Aren’t you sweet,” she smiles, pressing her lips against his cheekbone. “Morning, Brenda!” 

 

“Morning, love,” she greets. She takes one look at their sweaters and grins. “You’re off to get the tree, hm?” 

 

“You bet,” Jemma chirps, digging into the breakfast laid out on the table. Fitz just grumbles and immediately begins eating. When they’ve finished their food, he grabs the keys and heads for the door. 

 

“Not so fast,” Brenda stops him. C’mon, you two, get together for a photo.” 

 

Fitz moans and groans, but Brenda eventually snaps a photo she deems acceptable, and they head out in her car for the Christmas tree lot.

 

“It’s only two days until Christmas,” he warns her. “The best ones may already be gone.” 

 

“I always find one I like,” she says firmly. “Have a little faith in Christmas, Fitz.” 

 

“We’ll see about that,” he replies. “Did you sleep alright, by the way?” 

 

She grins. “Excellently, thanks!” 

 

“Oh, see, it was hard to tell since you were  _ violently kicking me,”  _ he grouses. She rolls her eyes. 

 

“I’d hate to be a bother, Fitz. I suppose I’ll just have your mum set up the guest room for me,” she retaliates. 

 

“Ha, ha,” he retorts sarcastically. Jemma hums Christmas songs along with the radio and he pretends to be annoyed by it, but she knows better. There’s a looseness to his body that she’s missed seeing, and the fondness in his eyes as he glances over at her makes her smile widely. 

 

“You look happy,” she says as they park at the tree lot. 

 

“I am.” He shrugs, taking her hand in his. “Very, very happy. You look happy, too.” 

 

“I am,” she mimics. A large bundle of mistletoe hangs above the entrance to the tree lot, and she tugs him to a stop. He looks at her curiously and she points up above their heads. “You know what they say, Fitz. Bad luck and all of that.” 

 

Fitz tilts his head back to look at the superstitious plant. “I think we’ve had quite enough bad luck for this year. I don’t think we should risk it.” 

 

“I don’t think so either.” She beams, stepping as close to him as possible. 

 

“How many do you think are up there?” he ponders. “Looks to me like—ten of them. You really oughta kiss me once for every mistletoe up there.” 

 

“And how come I’ve got to be the one kissing  _ you?”  _

 

“Fine.” He grins at her. “50/50. I get five, you get five.” 

 

“Deal,” she says, giggling and tugging him down by his ridiculous sweater. She presses her cold lips to his, soft and sweet. Her gloved hands find their way around his neck and bat awkwardly at the hat on his head. 

 

“One,” he says with a chuckle. Then he captures her mouth with his, a bit more forcefully than she had. He tugs her closer with his hands around her waist and she sighs lightly into his mouth. As soon as he separates from her, she surges forward again. 

 

“Two,” she murmurs against his lips. 

  
They don’t notice the camera. Even if they did, Jemma’s not sure they would have cared. 


	17. Making Headlines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma and Fitz's private moment is plastered on the covers of all the magazines, bringing back some memories that Jemma would rather not re-live. Her reluctance to make their relationship public leads to a misunderstanding that could ruin their Christmas Eve. Good thing Brenda Fitz is around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap, y'all. This chapter really got away from me.
> 
> I also can't believe this fic is almost over! I only have 5 more chapters planned. But have no fear...if you're as in love with this verse as I am, there's going to be a fun series of "deleted scenes" and assorted one-shots coming soon :)

**_WILL DANIELS: MARRIED MAN?_ **

****

**_A TAWDRY AFFAIR: JEMMA SIMMONS IS THE OTHER WOMAN_ **

****

**_HOMEWRECKER: DANIELS LEAVES BEHIND HEARTBROKEN WIFE FOR JEMMA SIMMONS_ **

****

_Jemma stares blankly at the array of magazines spread out on her kitchen table. They’d been delivered to her mailbox with a note on them: thought you should know. The mug of tea in her hand has long gone cold, and a numbness has settled into her limbs._

_She’s made it a habit not to believe what she reads in the tabloids, but this time, they seem to have gotten something right. Interviews with people Will went to high school with, and photos of his wedding to his high school sweetheart, are plastered right in front of her._

_The shower upstairs shuts off and she tenses. He’ll be downstairs in just a few minutes, and she’ll have to confront him. She’ll have to face this head on and she’s not sure that she’s ready, but she also knows that she has no other choice._

_That’s the worst part about finding out something you never wanted to know. Once you know, you actually have to do something about it._

_He pads into the kitchen with a smile on his face, which drops immediately upon seeing her._

_“Jemma? Are you okay?”_

_“No,” she says, hating herself for the way her voice cracks. She puts down her mug and lifts the closest magazine. “Can you explain this to me? Is there any way you can explain this that doesn’t end with me being your mistress and you being a cheating son of a bitch?”_

_“Jemma, it’s…look, this is very complicated.”_

_“That doesn’t answer my question,” she says, willing the tears out of her eyes._

_“Are you married?”_

_He gulps and looks away from her. “Yes.”_

_Jemma gasps in a breath, chest heaving with the weight of his confirmation. She feels the rage growing inside of her and she slams the magazine down on the table. He flinches._

_“How could you?” she asks, keeping her tone carefully even. “How could you make me complicit in something so…so vile.”_

_“She agreed that I should move to L.A. for my career,” Will explains, taking a step toward her. Jemma quickly steps back and he halts. “We thought it would be best for both of us, if I pursued by career and it was…it wasn’t going great. Then I met you at that party through my manager, Gideon Malick. You were flirting with me and he said that if I played the part of your arm candy, someone would pick me up.”_

_She stares at him, horrified. “No. You didn’t. Tell me that you didn’t…”_

_“I never meant to fall in love with you,” he admits. “It wasn’t—I didn’t know how **good** you were, Jemma. My wife must have realized that this stopped being an act and she leaked the story. I was going to tell you, I swear. I was going to file for divorce—“ _

_“What role did you want so badly?!” Jemma finally shouts. She grabs one of the magazines and throws it at him. “Huh? Which one was it? Is that why you’ve been trying to push me away from Fitz, so you can take his place?”_

_“You and Fitz—he’s in love with you. It wasn’t fair to me that you always wanted to spend your time with him—“_

_“Do you hear yourself right now?” Jemma yells. “You’re married, and you’re saying that I’m not allowed to spend my time with my best friend in the whole bloody world.”_

_“You two weren’t even speaking when we met!”_

_“This isn’t about Fitz,” Jemma snarls. “This is about you, and the fact that you’re an adulterous fucking liar.”_

_Then something clicks and she stumbles backward. “Oh my God. You wanted his role in The Sun Will Rise. You wanted me to push him out of the project so that you could take it—“_

_“Jemma…”_

_“Get out,” she hisses. “Get the hell out of my house.”_

_“Please, you need to listen to me. I love you, and I’m so sorry that I wasn’t honest with you, but—“_

_He’s cut off by the front door opening. “Jemma?” Fitz calls. “I saw the papers, I wanted to come check on you—“_

_He walks into the kitchen and freezes when he sees the tears on Jemma’s cheeks and Will, standing there with wet hair and clenched fists. Fitz stares between them and Jemma gives him one look that tells him everything he needs to know—the articles are true._

_“You need to go,” Fitz says firmly. Will shakes his head._

_“I’m not leaving, not until I work this out with Jemma.”_

_“There’s nothing to work out,” Jemma gets out. She’s managed to keep her tears at bay but something about the security of Fitz’s presence makes her all the more vulnerable. She sobs and continues. “He’s right, you need to leave.”_

_“It doesn’t have to end like this,” Will says._

_“It really does,” Fitz says, stepping in front of Jemma. “Get the fuck out of here before I call the police.”_

_“When you’re ready to talk, you know where to find me,” Will finally says after a beat of silence. He turns to strides out, slamming the door behind him. Jemma moves to the table and begins tearing the magazines to shreds, crying loudly and uncontrollably._

_Fitz turns her around and pulls her into him, wrenching the paper from her hands and dropping it to the floor. “Shh, Jemma, it’s okay. It’s alright.”_

_But it isn’t, because Will Daniels has made a fool out of her and made a fool out of her heart._

_***_

As soon as the door shuts behind Brenda, Jemma puts her head in her hands. The magazines in front of her are staring at her, photos of herself and Fitz wrapped around each other at the Christmas tree lot. They both look unbelievably happy beneath the lights, practically glowing with the way they look at each other.

 

**FITZSIMMONS FLING: TRUE LOVE OR PUBLICITY STUNT?**

**FITZ AND SIMMONS: REAL OR UNREAL?**

**FITZSIMMONS HOLIDAY PDA: ARE THEY MAKING IT OFFICIAL?**

**MERRY KISSMAS: FITZ AND SIMMONS’ SECRET ROMANCE**

She sighs, sitting up and wrapping her hand around her warm mug of tea as she lazily flips open one of them, searching for the article about them. Before she finds it, Fitz’s shuffling steps bring him into the kitchen. He bends over to drop a kiss on top of her head before he turns on the tea kettle.

  
“Happy Christmas Eve. Where’s Mum?”

 

“She went down to the shops,” Jemma answers dully. “She still needed to get the food for dinner tonight.”

 

He takes one look at the magazines and barks out a laugh. “Well that didn’t take long, did it?”

 

Jemma says nothing, keeping her gaze on the table.

 

“Jemma? Are you okay?”

 

She gulps and shakes her head. “They all think it’s a publicity stunt. Or that I’m using you for something or other.”

 

He snorts. “Jemma, it doesn’t matter. We both know that’s not true.”

 

“This just isn’t how I wanted things to go.”

 

“How do you mean?”

 

“I didn’t want this to be so _public.”_

 

Fitz’s easy-going façade slips and he leans defensively against the counter, crossing his arms. “So you wanted to keep this under wraps? For how long?”

 

She glances up at him wearily. “Fitz, that’s not it.”

 

“Then tell me what it is,” Fitz demands. “Because from where I’m standing, Jemma, it looks like you don’t want anyone to know about…this thing between us.”

 

“It’s not that at all!”

 

“If you don’t want this—you know that you could have told me,” Fitz says, voice hoarse.

 

His eyes flash with pain and she wants to stand and wrap herself around him to make it stop, but her gut is twisting with anxiety and she can’t seem to bring herself to move.

 

“I _do_ want this,” she insists. “I’ve been so, so happy here with you.”

 

“I really thought you were too,” Fitz laughs bitterly. “So I guess I’m just trying to figure out why you look like you’re in front of a firing squad.”

Jemma is silent for a long moment. “You were there, Fitz. You remember what happened last time I was in a public relationship.”

 

He stiffens. “You can’t possibly think I would ever hurt you the way that Will did.”

 

“It wouldn’t be the first time that you did,” Jemma snaps instinctively. Her hands fly to her mouth and the words hang in the air between them. Fitz swallows hard and looks away from her.

 

“You’re right,” he grits out. He pushes himself off of the counter and storms toward the stairs.

 

“Fitz, where are you going? Please, I didn’t mean to say that.”

 

He spins around, three stairs up. “You didn’t mean to say it, but you meant what you said.”

 

“I didn’t,” she pleads. “I’m just—you know I want to be with you. You know that I forgave you for all of that.”

 

“But you still haven’t!” he exclaims, throwing his arms out. He shuts his eyes and puts his hands on his hips, breathing heavily. “Look Jemma, I need a minute, okay?”

 

She licks her lips and nods, blinking back tears. “Okay. I’ll um, I’ll be in the kitchen.”

 

He nods sharply and heads up the stairs. She can hear him banging around in his bedroom, and then his footsteps racing down the stairs. The front door opens and shuts loudly.

 

He’s gone, and she’s left wondering how the hell things got so out of hand so quickly.

 

***

 

Jemma only lasts for an hour stuck inside the house alone. Brenda still isn’t home and Fitz doesn’t appear to be returning any time soon, so she gets dressed and heads off in search of him.

 

He hasn’t taken his car, so he must be walking distance. Running through all the possible places he could be, she decides to set off for the small memorial stone erected in Penny’s honor. It’s Christmas Eve, after all, and he hasn’t been to it since they arrived. Odds are, it’s where he’s gone to mope and clear his head. Jemma realizes that she needs to set him straight and make it very clear to him that she hadn’t intended to compare him to Will before his insecurities really start to take hold.

 

It doesn’t take long to arrive; after all, the stone is technically on the Fitzs’ property. She sees a figure hunched over in front of the marble and smiles to herself. She’s found him.

 

Picking up her pace, she reaches the stone in record time only to find that the figure isn’t Fitz at all; it’s Brenda, and she’s singing under her breath. Jemma buries her disappointment that she hasn’t found the Fitz she was looking for, instead flooded with guilt that she hadn’t thought to ask Brenda if she wanted to visit the memorial together.

 

“Rockin’ around the Christmas tree—“

 

“—at the Christmas party hop,” Jemma joins in, giggling slightly when Brenda jumps.

 

“Y’scared me!” Brenda gasps with a chuckle. She’s kneeling on a thick blanket and Jemma joins her. “What brings you out here?”

 

She feels a little embarrassed that she’s not here to wish Penny a Happy Christmas, as Brenda obviously is. She’s placed a few wooden Nutcrackers at the base of the stone.

 

“I was actually looking for Fitz,” Jemma admits.

 

Brenda’s brow furrowed. “I’d expect you two to be together today.”

 

“Me too,” Jemma murmurs, twisting her hands in her lap. “But I’m afraid I’ve mucked that up.”

 

Brenda sighs heavily and reaches an arm around Jemma’s shoulders. “Alright, pet, what happened this time?”

 

“I overreacted to all of the tabloid stories, and before I knew it Fitz and I were arguing,” Jemma relays. “I was trying to explain how much it scares me, to be in a relationship again after what happened with Will, but instead it turned into him thinking I don’t trust him.”

 

“You know he always hated that berk,” Brenda tells her. Jemma nods against her shoulder. “But I’m sure that deep down, he knows that you trust him, love. You two have been through too much together for there not to be trust.”

 

“He said he would never hurt me like Will did, and I told him he already had,” Jemma sniffs. “I didn’t mean that. Will—he did what he did on purpose. Fitz never intended to get our project tabled and he didn’t think we would get funding so fast again.”

 

“It doesn’t matter if someone means to hurt you or not,” Brenda says sagely. “If someone cuts you on accident, it still bleeds just as much as a knife in the back.”

 

“Yes, exactly. But still, I shouldn’t have said it. I didn’t mean it, and then he stormed off. I expected him to be here.”

 

Brenda pulls back to look at her. “You know how our Leo can be. I’m sure he went down to the pub, he’ll be back.”

 

“Sometimes it feels like every time we move forward, we just end up sliding back,” Jemma says. “It scares me. What if we can’t make it work, and then we have nothing?”

 

“If you stopped all of this right now, do you think you could ever go back to being just friends?” Brenda asks solemnly. “Do you think you could watch Leo fall in love with someone else, attend his wedding, have his children call you Auntie?”

 

Jemma immediately begins shaking her head. “No. Never.”

 

“Then it looks like you’re too far gone for going back,” Brenda tells her seriously. “So you’ve either got to fight like hell to stop backsliding or accept that you’ve got nothing left to salvage.”

 

“Sometimes I think you may be too honest,” Jemma laughs, brushing at the tears that built in her eyes at the thought of Fitz with someone else.

 

“Only because I love you, dear.”

 

“I love you too.”

 

“I know you do,” Brenda says, stroking a gloved hand over Jemma’s hair. “Don’t you ever forget that. No matter what happens between you and Leo, that’ll never stop being true. We ought to go get dinner started, don’t you think? It’ll keep your mind off of things, until he gets home.”

 

Jemma nods and stands, reaching down to help Brenda up. She puts a hand on Penny’s stone.

 

“Happy Christmas, sunshine,” Jemma whispers. “We miss you.”

 

Brenda smiles at her, a bit watery, and leads her back toward the house. As soon as they return to the kitchen, Brenda sets her up with a job. Jemma chops carrots and peels potatoes until her hands cramp, but the smell of the kitchen and Brenda’s cheery Bing Crosby Christmas record keep her sufficiently distracted.

 

All the vegetables and crooning in the world can’t get rid of the heaviness lingering between her ribs, though, and every muscle in her body reacts to the sound of the front door opening and closing. Fitz appears, slightly glassy eyed, in the doorway. He takes off his coat and gloves, tossing them onto the couch in the living room and moving beside his mum to take the hand mixer from her.

  
“Go sit,” he orders gently. “I’ll finish up.”

 

“No, no,” Brenda denies. “Jemma and I have this all under control.”

 

“I want to help. Go take a break. Have a glass of wine.”

 

She pats his cheek and rolls her eyes. “Darling, you know I’m off to mass after dinner.”

 

“Blood of Christ and all that, eh?” Fitz suggests with a waggle of his brows. She laughs and pours herself a small glass, retiring to the living room.

 

Jemma takes a deep breath and turns her attention away from the dough she’s been strategically placing on a baking sheet. “Hi, Fitz.”

 

“Hi,” he says shortly, staring intently into the bowl of boiled potatoes. He begins mashing them rather violently and she crosses the kitchen, placing her hand over his and halting him.

 

“Fitz,” she implores. “Please look at me.”

 

He does so reluctantly and she leans upward, attempting to kiss him. He quickly turns his face and her lips land on the coarseness of his cheek. She stumbles back as if he’s smacked her, and he shakes his head.

 

“Please don’t,” he says quietly. “You don’t…I’ve made you think you have to…it’s like I said before Jemma, I don’t want it like this.”

 

“Want it like what?” she asks. “Me wanting to be with you?”

 

“You feeling like you have to be with me or you’ll lose me,” he says, finally looking at her again. “But I’ve spent all day thinking about that night in my kitchen and I can’t for the life of me figure out why you did that unless it was just because you felt like you couldn’t have me, or that you were losing me.”

 

“You think I would toy with you just so you wouldn’t be with someone else?” Jemma gasps, hurt.

 

He shrugs, biting down hard on his lip. “Honestly? I have no idea at this point. But every time I think I’ve got us pegged, something turns it around. We’ll talk to Phil and Melinda tomorrow, figure out how to spin the photos into a filming thing or a promotional stunt.”

 

“No,” Jemma says fiercely. His eyes widen and she moves closer to him again.

 

“What?”

 

“I said no,” Jemma repeats. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to willfully misunderstand me.”

 

“I think I understood you perfectly clear.”

 

“You did not!” Jemma retorts, voice rising. He shushes her rather roughly and she huffs. “Your mum already knows, Fitz.”

 

“Let’s just have dinner, okay?” he says through gritted teeth. “It’s bloody Christmas and I don’t want to spend it fighting with you.”

 

And that’s what they do. It’s quite possibly one of the most awkward meals Jemma has ever had, and that includes the time she went out with Raina early on in her career. Brenda makes a valiant attempt at smoothing out the discomfort lingering in the air, but with little success. Fitz’s mother looks incredibly relieved to have an excuse to leave the house as she dons her coat and heads out to mass.

 

For a moment, Jemma considers joining her despite the fact that religion has never really been her thing. She’d rather spend hours listening to Latin she doesn’t understand than be stuck with Fitz looking at her like he is now.

 

“I’ll clean up,” she says. He shakes his head.

 

“I’ve got it. You did most of the cooking.”

 

Jemma sighs. “I suppose I’ll go rest, then.”

 

She makes it to the stairs and stops, hoping that he’ll follow after her. Instead, she hears the sink turn on and the clanking of dishes as he begins washing up. She swallows and drags herself up stairs, toeing off her shoes and climbing into his bed. Jemma throws one arm over her eyes, willing herself to calm down. This is not how she envisioned their Christmas. The little voice in her head that sounds uncannily like Bobbi reminds her that it’s only Christmas Eve, and that she still has time to fix this before it’s too late.

 

She listens carefully, trying to place if he’s moved to the living room to watch TV or if he’s staying in the kitchen for a cup of tea. She waits anxiously when she hears him come up the stairs but then frowns when she hears a door open and shut. She rolls out of bed and grabs a pair of his thick woolen socks from the floor, putting them on in lieu of slippers.

 

The light in Penny’s room is on, visible through the crack beneath the door. Taking a deep breath, she opens it.

 

“Fitz?”

 

The bedroom window is wide open and he’s nowhere to be found. Her breath hitches and she dashes across the room, sticking half of her body out of the window.

 

“Don’t panic,” he says dully from his seat a few feet away. “I’m not a jumper.”

 

She glares at him. He’s sitting on an unzipped sleeping bag, Penny’s yellow comforter wrapped around his shoulders. “You’re not funny.”

 

“According to some reviewers, my comedic timing is actually quite good.”

 

She rolls her eyes and climbs onto the roof cautiously. Her foot slips and she shrieks, his hands grabbing onto her roughly to keep her from sliding off of the roof. “Jemma!”

 

“Don’t give me that,” she snaps. “I wouldn’t be out here if it weren’t for you.”

 

She takes several deep breaths to calm herself and wills herself not to look down.

 

“I’m kind of being a dick, aren’t I?”

 

“Yes,” she says primly. “You really are, and I would appreciate it if you would let me speak.”

 

He nods and lifts the blanket in invitation. She grabs one end and wraps it around herself.

 

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to compare you to Will. Yes, you’ve hurt me before but it was nothing like what he did. What he did was planned. It was calculated and pre-meditated. You just…got caught up.”

 

“I didn’t want to move forward until you forgave me, remember?” he reminds her. “Every move you’ve made has made it seem like you have, but then today—“

 

“Today I was overwhelmed,” she interrupts. “I was overwhelmed by those photos, and I was just—I’ve been so happy with you, Fitz. It’s felt like we’re in our own little bubble, like the world outside of us doesn’t really exist. You know I haven’t been with anyone since Will.”

 

She clears her throat, tightening her grip on the blanket. He turns to look at her and she sees she has his sincere attention.

 

“We didn’t talk about it much, you and I. You hated him and it felt…uncomfortable, to discuss relationships with you. I didn’t really know why back then, but it was because of how I felt about you. How I think I’ve always felt about you. But Fitz, it hurt so badly, what he did. I’d been used. I’d been manipulated and I had _loved_ him.”

 

Fitz flinches at her words and looks away.

 

“I’m sorry that it hurts you to hear that,” Jemma mumbles. “But it’s the truth. I did. I don’t anymore, but the worst part of how badly it all hurt was that the whole world was watching. The entire world was witness to this shitty thing that happened to me, just like they’d watched you and I fall apart, just like they watched Penny die.”

 

She chokes on a strangled sob and looks toward the sky. “My broken heart was a side show. I couldn’t go anywhere, do anything, without being reminded. Without photographers shouting his name at me. And his plan worked. He got famous, he’s been in films, he got exactly what he wanted.”

 

“I just—I know how bad it was,” Fitz tells her. “I remember how you were, after, but—I don’t understand what that has to do with us.”

 

She laughs a little bitterly and forces herself to look him in the eye. “I trust you, Fitz. I trust you with my life. But I don’t know that I’m strong enough to go through that again. My last public relationship nearly cost me everything—my reputation, my career, all of it. And even though I know, consciously, that you would never do anything like that, the fear is still there. Seeing us plastered on those magazines like that---that moment felt so private. Just for me and you, but it wasn’t. Nothing ever is.”

 

He watches her carefully, cataloguing her expression, and she wishes that she could know what he’s thinking.

 

“You know I feel about you,” she continues.

 

He shakes his head. “I don’t, actually.”

 

She blinks in surprise. “I’ve told you.”

 

He smiles crookedly. “Hate to break it to you, Jemma, but you actually haven’t.”

 

 _Ah_ , she thinks. _The root of the problem._

 

“Oh,” she says, and then winces. She’d meant to say more than that, but suddenly her tongue feels heavy. He turns away from her again, staring up at the winter stars.

 

“Penny and I used to come out here every Christmas Eve,” he tells her. “I told her we could catch the reindeer, if we were fast enough. Stow away on Santa’s sleigh. She’d always fall asleep on my shoulder and I’d bring her back inside.”

 

Jemma smiles softly. “You were a great older brother, Fitz.”

 

“I loved her a lot.”

 

“I know you did. You do.”

 

Silence settles over them for a long moment, and Jemma leans back slightly on the sleeping bag, gazing up at the stars.

 

“Did I ever tell you about my surgery?”

 

“For your scoliosis?”

 

Jemma nods. “Mhm. I don’t think I ever told you about after, though. You know how my parents were. They made me have that surgery for my career and then fretted about what the scar would do to my prospects. I was just a child, and they stuck a rod in my back. But my dad—I think he felt badly about all of that, so he would wheel me out into the yard and he would talk to me about the stars. I think it’s the only time I ever felt truly loved.”

 

She can feel his eyes burning into the side of her face. “Ever?”

 

“Until I met you,” she says, turning her head to meet his steady gaze. “It’s a strange feeling, isn’t it? Never wanting to be without someone. Those first days on set, you must have been so annoyed with me, the way I was always following you around—“

 

“No,” he cuts her off, voice thick. “Never.”

 

“I know you’re angry,” Jemma says. “And I’m sorry. But I never meant to hurt you, and I know you never meant to hurt me. I don’t know how to put into words, the way that I feel about you, but I know that it’s—it’s _so much_ that sometime I wonder if my body can contain it all. It’s not that I don’t want you to be with someone else, although it would kill me if you were. It’s that—when I think about every moment in my future, it’s you there beside me.”

 

He leans forward and kisses her, his cold nose bumping against hers as he carefully holds her to him in an effort to keep her from sliding off of the roof. She immediately responds.

 

“They can publish any pictures they want,” she pants when he pulls away. “I’ve changed my mind. I want everyone to know and we’ll deal with the rest.”

 

He raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

 

“Yes,” she says decisively. She clears her throat and turns her face toward the town. “JEMMA SIMMONS IS HEAD OVER HEELS FOR LEO FITZ!”

 

He flinches at her sudden shouting and then throws his head back in a laugh. “You’re mad. Let’s get you inside before you freeze, Sheffield.”

 

She narrows her eyes. “It’s cold there too, you know.”

 

He just ushers her back through the window and insists on warming her up with mulled wine and a ridiculous amount of knitted blankets on the couch. He turns on her favorite Christmas film and wraps his arms around her, reveling in the feeling of her head on his chest.

 

“Sorry I nearly ruined Christmas,” he murmurs into her hair. She shakes her head.

 

“It’s not Christmas yet, silly Fitz. Besides, all’s well that ends well.”

 

He tilts her chin and kisses her deeply, incredibly grateful that the day has ended with her in his arms. The front door swings open and Brenda freezes.

 

“Looks like you two have worked things out,” Brenda grins. Fitz separates from Jemma with cherry red cheeks. She doesn’t look much better.

 

“Mum—“

 

“I don’t want to know!” she exclaims. “But it’s time for your one special gift.”

 

Jemma and Fitz exchange an amused smile. “Hm, I wonder what it’ll be this year?” Jemma asks jokingly.

 

“Maybe a book?” he plays along.

 

Jemma hums in mock-thought. “Or scarves?”

 

Brenda glares at them both and tosses wrapped packages onto their laps. “Quit it with the sass, you two.”

 

Every single year, Brenda buys them each a set of pajamas for Christmas Eve, the only gifts they’re allowed to open before Christmas. This year, Jemma’s are power blue, Fitz’s a nice navy. Jemma doesn’t miss that they’re color coordinated.

 

She wakes the next morning to his breath on her neck, legs tangled up in hers. Rather than soaking it in, she turns around swiftly, straddling him and pinning him to the bed.

 

“Hmph?” he groans, confused. She presses her lips to his neck, trailing up toward his ear. She nips his lobe and his confused groan melts into a moan. She kisses along his jawline and finally reaches his lips just as his hands catch up to his brain. He wraps his arms around her waist and tightens his grip when she sucks his bottom lip into her mouth.

 

“Happy Christmas, Fitz,” she whispers.

 

“Happy bloody Christmas,” he growls, flipping her over. She giggles, shivering as his hands slip up underneath her pajama top.

 

It’s a very happy Christmas indeed, and Jemma decides she’d be quite pleased to make his hands on her body a new tradition.

 

Brenda looks at them knowingly when they arrive at the table with rumpled hair and shining eyes, but mercifully refrains from commenting. “Happy Christmas, you two.”

 

“Happy Christmas,” they say in unison. Brenda ushers them toward the tree in the corner and Fitz collapses into an armchair, pulling Jemma onto his lap. She squeaks in surprise and blushes at the show of affection in front of his mum.

 

“I suppose I’m handing out the gifts, since this one doesn’t look like he’s releasing you any time soon.”

 

“Nope,” Fitz grins smugly. “No plans to do that.”

 

Brenda hands them each a gift from her, and Jemma does her usual round of “oh, Brenda, you shouldn’t have” and Brenda does her usual “tosh, you silly girl.”

She’s gotten Fitz a lovely, simple watch and Jemma a set of gorgeous opal studs.

 

Despite his earlier insistence of not letting her go, Fitz nudges Jemma off of his lap to present Brenda with her gift from both him and Jemma.

 

“Look at you,” Brenda teases. “Already buying joint presents.”

 

“C’mon, we’ve been doing that for years. Why do you think you stopped getting the same pair of socks every years?” Fitz retorts.

 

Brenda gasps as she opens the box. “How did you find this?”

 

It’s a perfect replica of Fitz’s grandmother’s tea set, one he’d broken as a child. It was the first time he’d ever seen his mother cry, and one of the only times he’d ever been the cause of it. It had broken his tiny heart at the time and he’s never forgotten it.

 

“Jemma helped me track one down,” Fitz explains as his mother practically cracks his ribs with her hug. “This one loves research.”

 

“I hope it’s identical,” Jemma frets. This just draws attention to her and Brenda releases Fitz in favor of squeezing Jemma to the point that she nearly chokes.

 

“It’s perfect,” Brenda says, brushing daintily at the tears building in the corners of her eyes. “I’m so lucky to have you both in my life.”

 

“We’re the lucky ones,” Jemma insists.

 

“Can I give my next one now?” Fitz asks, shifting on his feet. Jemma tries not to look too eager as he places a small, sloppily-wrapped box in her lap.

 

“Did you wrap this yourself?” Jemma asks, surprised. Ordinarily he hires someone to do his wrapping.

 

“It just—seemed important, I guess,” he mumbles. She reaches forward to squeeze his hand.

 

“How sweet,” she coos. She carefully unwraps it, ignoring the way he rolls his eyes given the fact that the wrapping is so poor, and opens the jewelry case with baited breath.

 

It’s a simple gold bracelet, a thin, flat rectangle on a delicate chain. Inscribed in the rectangle are a series of numbers.

 

“What are these?” she asks, studying them carefully.

 

He clears his throat, kneeling in front of her to run his thumb over the bracelet. “They’re the coordinates of the casting office where we first met. It’s not there anymore—I think they turned it into a Target, but um—“

 

She tosses it to the side and grabs his cheeks in her hands, kissing him full on the mouth despite their audience. Brenda stands up under the guise of putting on the kettle and when Jemma pulls away from Fitz, she’s breathless and his eyes remain closed.

 

“It’s perfect,” she whispers. “I love it. I’m never going to take it off.”

 

His eyes flutter open and he beams at her, retrieving the box from the floor. “Could have fooled me, chucking it like that.”

 

“Yes well, I had a rather pressing matter to attend to,” she grins. She holds out her left hand, flipping her hand so that her palm faces upward as he carefully clasps it. When he’s done, he places a lingering kiss to her pulse point and she pinches his arm.

 

“Careful,” she warns. “Your mother’s just in the next room.”

 

“As though you didn’t nearly jump my bones in front of her, just then.”

 

“I’m going to regret pushing you two together, aren’t I?” Brenda jokes as she comes back in with a tray of tea and cakes. “Alright Jemma, just Fitz’s gift left then.”

 

“It’s not as good as yours,” she says nervously. He leans back from his place on the floor, resting his back on the armchair. She hands him a large, flat red envelope, his name carefully drawn in white calligraphy on the front.

 

“Y’know, we already split most of our proceeds 50/50,” Fitz says, leaning back to smirk up at her. “You really didn’t have to write a me a check.”

 

“Just open it,” she laughs, shaking her head. He pulls out the little packet inside and his jaw goes slack.

 

“Is this…”

 

“It’s a cabin in Lake Tahoe,” Jemma explains. “I’ve rented it for three weeks in the spring. If we stick to our shooting schedule we’ll be on a brief hiatus at that point. I’ve invited the others to join us for one week but the rest will be just us.”

 

“This is amazing!” he says excitedly, eagerly flipping through the pages of photos. “What a view.”

 

She wraps her arms around his shoulders, leaning her cheek against his neck as she looks at them as well. “It’s quite gorgeous.”

 

“You two are going to be late for your Skype call with Phil and Melinda,” Brenda reminds them. “I’m off to Catherine’s for a quick cuppa, you know she just lost her husband this past year.”

 

“Tell her we say hello,” Jemma says as Fitz stands to grab the laptop. As soon as he opens it and logs on, the Skype ringtone sounds out. Brenda slips out of the door just as they answer it.

 

“Happy Christmas!” they chorus. Phil practically shouts it back and Melinda just says it softly beside him. They chat about their holiday and about the magazine cover, even though Melinda sharply reminds them all that they don’t do shop-talk on Christmas. Phil holds up a wiggling Widget toward the camera and Jemma coos and awes at her dog.

 

It’s only after they’ve hung up that Jemma turns to Fitz with wide eyes. “Fitz?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Were they—in their pajamas?”

 

“Oh my God,” Fitz breathes. “Do you think they’re--?”

 

“Finally!”

 

After a beat, Fitz tilts his head to the side.

 

“D’you think this is how everyone feels about us?”

 

Jemma laughs. “Probably, love.”

 

It’s the first time she’s ever called him a petname and she freezes. The slow grin spreading on his face doesn’t bode well for her.

 

“Did you just call me--?”

 

“Nope,” Jemma insists. “No, I did not.”

 

“You so did!” he laughs.

 

“You called me sweetheart!”

 

“Not the same, different context,” he fires back.

 

“That’s it, FitzSimmons is over!” she calls over her shoulder as she heads toward the kitchen to make a more substantial breakfast.

 

“Too late! No take backs, _love!”_


	18. Dancing Into the New Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz and Jemma return from their holiday, and Jemma hosts her annual New Years Eve party. A surprise visitor threatens to derail the evening and Jemma gets one step closer to answers about her accident.

The music is loud, but not too loud. The lights flash festively, but not so much as to give the partygoers a headache. Her dress is fitted and short but still tasteful, and the heels on her feet are only a couple of inches tall.

 

It’s the perfect way to spend her New Years, just how she likes it.

 

“So you guys do this every year?” Skye asks, eyes wide as she looks around Jemma’s house. With all the doors open, lights everywhere, and a good amount of the furniture removed, it looks almost like an incredibly trendy bar. 

 

Jemma and Fitz nod in sync. “Well, ever since Jemma got the house.” 

 

She snakes an arm around his waist. “We were just really sick of getting stuck at clubs on New Years Eve and photographed and all of that, so we figured why not throw our own party?” 

 

“With only the people we like,” Fitz clarifies with a wink. 

 

Skye laughs, sipping at her champagne. “Glad I made the cut, then.” 

 

Trip throws an arm over her shoulders. “Great food, Jemma. You always find the best caterers.”

 

Jemma shakes her head. “That’s actually all Fitz.”

 

“The key is that you’ve got to find the right _balance,_ _”_ Fitz begins, and Jemma groans.

 

“Oh no, don’t get him started on the proper balance of party foods,” Jemma whines. “It’s all we’ll hear about until the ball drops.”

 

Fitz clucks his tongue. “You know, for a woman who’s so obsessed with systems, you sure have no respect for mine.”

 

“My systems make _sense._ _”_

“A proper meat to cheese appetizer ratio _also_ makes sense!”

 

“Alright,” Skye interrupts laughingly. “This is going to get out of hand. I’m calling time out on this domestic dispute.”

 

“Skye’s never been to one of your parties,” Trip reminds the hosts. “Have you filled her in on all the stuff going on?”

 

“There’s stuff going on?” Skye asks. “I thought this was just a run of the mill party.”

 

“Oh, no!” Jemma gasps. “There’s lots of things going on. The formal dining room is a photo area—“

 

Skye snorts. “Right, because your guests really need to go to a party to get their pictures taken.”

 

Jemma glares at her and the younger girl puts her hands up in surrender.

 

“Fine, right. Sorry. Continue.”

 

“Anyway, there’s the photo area in the formal living room. The den has been turned into a dance floor, as you can see. Outside we have several fire pits with s’more stations, two additional bars, and another dance floor—“

 

“Damn, Simmons,” Skye whistles. “How many people are invited to this thing?”

 

“Oh, not that many,” she says, gesturing vaguely. “What was it this year, Fitz? Two hundred?”

 

“I think we settled on a hundred and eighty five, actually,” he says. “We got rid of the stunt team, for obvious reasons.”

 

“ _You_ got rid of the stunt team,” she corrects. “ _I_ sent them invitations regardless.”

 

Fitz huffs. “Jemma, they could have killed you!”

 

“I’m sure none of them had anything to do with it,” Jemma tells him a bit sharply. “And what was our rule about tonight?”

 

“Scotland rules,” he mumbles, staring at his feet.

 

Fitz had agreed to what Jemma referred to as Scotland Rules. They’d returned from Glasgow two days prior, having spent the remainder of their Christmas in a blissful honeymoon state. Jemma curled up with her head in Fitz’s lap on the plane, comforted by his hands running through her hair and grounding her back to reality. The worst of her panic attack was held at bay by his murmuring voice.

 

But as soon as he’d landed, he’d launched into an action plan, a lengthy speech about all of the ways he can get to the bottom of the connection between Ward and her accident, so Jemma did what she’d always done best.

 

She’d established a comprehensive set of rules.

 

Mostly, all she wanted was for things to return to the way they’d been in Glasgow. She’d told him so and his face had softened. He squeezed her knee and promised—they wouldn’t deal with Ward until the New Year was underway.

 

“How drunk do I have to get you guys to do the dance from Linked?” Trip asks, beaming at their closeness. “Because I’m willing to keep running back and forth to the bar all night long if that’s what it takes.”

 

“We are never doing that dance again,” Fitz answers, just as Jemma leans into him and answers on her own.

 

“I think it would take a couple bottles of champagne,” Jemma smiles impishly.

 

Fitz snorts. “Each.”

 

Skye cheers suddenly, startling Fitz and causing him to nearly spill his drink on Jemma. Bobbi and Hunter have arrived, straight from their flight back from London.

 

“How the hell are you awake?” Fitz asks as he greets Hunter with a clap on the back. “I swear, Jemma and I spent the last two days in bed.”

 

“More information than I needed, but I’m glad things are going swimmingly,” Hunter says with a cheeky grin. Fitz splutters, attempting to make a recovery, but Hunter just laughs and nods toward the bar. “I’m going to need a drink. Come with me?”

 

Hunter squeezes Bobbi’s hand, confirming her drink order, and then heads off toward the bar with Fitz in tow. Trip appears on Fitz’s other side, glancing back toward the girls.

 

“They were starting to gossip,” Trip explains. “Figured I would come with, if you don’t mind.”

 

“More the merrier, mate,” Hunter says. “So, how was Glasgow?”

 

“It was great,” Fitz replies. “Perfect, really. I mean, other than the fight on Christmas Eve, but—“

 

“You had a fight?” Trip asks worriedly. “Man, that sucks. On Christmas, too.”

  
“Oh, it wasn’t so bad,” Fitz shrugs. “Jemma and I have had worse fights than that one.”

 

“Bob and I fight more than we don’t, probably,” Hunter admits as he flags down the bartender. “Are you saying you and Skye don’t fight?”

 

Trip frowns. “We don’t. Is that…bad?”

 

“Is it bad that we did?” Fitz asks worriedly. “Are we not _supposed_ to fight anymore, now that we’re…now that we’re uh…”

 

“Playing ‘hide the cucumber’?” Hunter grins lewdly.

 

“No!” Fitz practically shouts. He lowers his voice and leans closer to his friends. “We haven’t actually…uh, done that.”

 

“You’re kidding,” Trip says. Fitz pegs him with a stare and Trip pulls a face. “Huh. I didn’t see that coming.”

  
“And why’s that?”

 

“I just kinda figured that once you both got your shit together, you’d be like…deliriously happy,” Trip explains. “Not that you aren’t! Neither of you has stopped smiling all night.”

 

Fitz sighs, leaning on his forearms on the bar. “Things are good. We’re good. But I just realized that I had no idea how to answer that question.”

 

“What question?” Hunter asks as the bartender slides a beer to him. The man sets about mixing Bobbi’s drink and he turns his attention back to Fitz.

 

“I didn’t know what to call us,” Fitz worries, chewing on his lip.

 

“I didn’t know what to call Skye either,” Trip supplies. “But then my little cousin walked up to us on Christmas and asked if Skye was my girlfriend.”

 

Hunter barks out a laugh. “Was Skye there?”

 

“Oh yeah, standing right next to me. So we just kinda…stared at each other, and my baby cousin goes, ‘you two haven’t talked about this yet, have you?’ And she was right, so I asked Skye if she wanted to be and she said sure.”

 

“’Do you want to?’” Hunter imitates. “Good lord, man. Skye can do better.”

 

Trip’s eyes drift to where Skye stands with Bobbi and Jemma, head thrown back in laughter. “Oh, I know she can. But for some reason she’s into this.”

 

“You’re the perfect specimen of human man,” Fitz grumps at him with a glare.

 

“Looks like Skye has competition for your affections,” Hunter jokes. “C’mon, let’s back to them. I see that arsehole Clint Barton staring at Bob’s legs.”

 

“Oh no way!” Fitz exclaims excitedly. “Clint’s here? I haven’t seen him since he and Bob—Saget broke up.”

 

Hunter freezes and turns to stare at Fitz. “Clint Barton never dated Bob Saget.”

 

“He totally did!” Fitz denies unconvincingly. “The early 2000s were a strange time.”

 

“Bobbi went out with that prick?” Hunter practically gasps, turning to stare at the blonde man across the room.

 

“He’s actually pretty amazing,” Trip says. “He broke a world record at the last Olympics.”

 

“Nobody asked you, Trip,” Hunter snaps. He stalks back toward the girls and Fitz and Trip exchange a worried look. He shoves Bobbi’s drink toward her.

 

“Are you okay?” she asks.

 

“Yeah, fine,” he bites back. Bobbi frowns and steps closer to him.

 

Jemma looks up and meets Fitz’s eyes, tilting her head in a silent question. He tilts his head toward Clint Barton in the corner with a grimace. She immediately puts two and two together, and Fitz is struck by their ability to silently understand one another. He can’t imagine his life without her, and when she gives him an exasperated little smirk he decides, once and for all, that he never, ever wants to live that life.

 

She moves to his side and tugs at his hand. “Come on, Fitz. We ought to do a bit more mingling.”

 

Fitz is only too eager to escape the argument brewing between Bobbi and Hunter. Jealousy, jet lag, and alcohol certainly don’t mix well, even for the most non-combative of people. Hunter and Bobbi’s mutual propensity for arguments just adds kindling to the fire.

 

“We probably should,” Fitz agrees eagerly. “We’ll see you all later?”

 

“Sounds good, man,” Trip says. “I think we’re gonna go check out these s’mores stations you were talking about.”

 

Skye bounces eagerly beside him. “Yes! Ooh, I have to teach you the trick to making the world’s best s’more.”

 

“C’mon, girl, show me what you got.”

 

They head toward the backyard, while Fitz and Jemma make their way back into the den, where most people are gyrating on the dance floor. Some others mingle around the outskirts, and Jemma immediately starts shaking her head as Fitz slows his pace.

 

“No, no, no,” Jemma insists. “Fitz, we are dancing.”

 

She pries his drink from his clenched fist and places it on one of the tall, free standing tables sporadically placed near the dance floor, sliding her own just beside his. Giving him her best come-hither eyes, she holds both of his hands in hers and sways them back and forth.

 

“Please, Fitz?” she whispers in his ear, more breath than words.

 

When she pulls back, she sees a muscle twitch in his jaw, his tongue making an indent on his cheek. Fitz scrunches his nose in thought, listening to the music pounding through the speakers.

 

“This song isn’t really doing it for me,” he says. She huffs and does her best not to stomp her foot like a child.

 

“No song is ever going to do it for you. I could always go find another dancing partner—“

 

“You wouldn’t,” he says easily. Jemma’s gut flutters at his confidence, something she’s missed so much about him in recent months. Even more than his confidence in himself, it’s his confidence in _her_ and in the way that she feels about him that has her unable to keep the goofy smile off of her face. “What?”

 

“Nothing,” she shrugs, continuing to sway their joined hands. “I’m just glad to hear you say it.”

 

“Say what?”

 

“That you know I’d never choose another partner.”

 

The smile on his face is almost disbelieving, and he bends down to kiss her sweetly on the lips. “Yeah well, I guess at some point I realized you’ve been choosing me for eight years now.”

 

“Mhm,” she hums against his lips as he tries to pull away. “I’m happy with my choices. Are you?”

 

“Thrilled.”

 

“Thrilled enough to dance with me?”

 

He rolls his head back with an exaggerated groan and then tugs her sharply onto the dance floor. She giggles wildly as he spins her beneath his arm, nearly sending her careening into Lincoln Campbell and Raina. He tugs her back in and Jemma lands clumsily against his chest as he rocks back and forth off-beat.

 

“You’re the only person I would do this for,” he says loudly into her ear. She nods in acknowledgement, looking altogether too proud of herself. The pop song shifts into a slower ballad and Fitz narrows his eyes at her. “Did you do this?”

 

“How could I?” she denies with a laugh. “I’ve been with you the whole time!”

 

“I’ve got my eyes on you, Simmons.”

 

“Good.”

 

Her hands slide up around his shoulders and he tightens his arms around her waist, rotating them in a small circle so that he can examine the damage his slip-up had caused. He grimaces when he sees Hunter and Bobbi talking to one another quite heatedly near the kitchen.

 

“I really screwed that one up,” he tells Jemma. She shakes her head and rolls her eyes.

 

“Hunter must have been the only person on Earth who didn’t know they dated,” Jemma assures him. “Besides, this kind of thing is part of our world, isn’t it? Events are an excuse for everyone to dress up fancy and try to show up their exes.”

 

“It’s a bit like high school, isn’t it?” he laughs. “Giant, incredibly wealthy teenagers. The whole lot of them.”

 

“Us included,” Jemma agrees. “This dress cost a _ridiculous_ amount of money.”

 

“Have I told you how much I like this one?” he says, toying with the zipper on the back. “It’s quite nice.”

 

“It’ll look even better on my floor,” she winks. Fitz splutters out a laugh, pulling her a bit closer.

 

“Did you just…hit on yourself _for_ me?”

 

“I’ve always been your best wingman.”

 

“Alright, that is patently untrue,” he argues. “You are the worst wingman ever.”

 

“That’s not true!” she contests. “If it weren’t for me, you’d have never hooked up with that Victoria’s Secret model.”

 

As soon as she says it, she pulls a face.

 

“Oh god, you’ve hooked up with _lingerie models._ _”_

“And you’ve hooked up with men who can bench press three times my weight,” he reminds her gently. “It’s a bit weird that we know every detail of this part of each other’s lives, but it doesn’t have to be a problem.”

 

“No, you’re right,” she agrees. “But for the record…I never felt this way about any of them. I’ve never felt this way about anyone.”

 

He stops moving, going completely still despite the fact that they’re in the middle of the dance floor.

 

“Really?”

 

“Really,” she says a bit shyly.

 

“I haven’t either,” he says seriously. One hand reaches up to tuck her hair behind her ear. “Jemma, I—“

 

“Wait,” she interrupts, heart pounding loudly against her ribcage. “Not here.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“I—this isn’t a conversation I want to shout at you on a dance floor,” she explains. He smiles softly in understanding, brushing his nose against hers.

  
“Does this mean I have permission to vacate?”

 

“Yes,” she giggles, pulling him off of the dance floor. “We really ought to mingle.”

 

“Divide and conquer?” he suggests, looking around at all of their guests. “We can make obligatory small talk for significantly less time if we split up.”

 

She sighs in disappointment but nods. “You’re probably right. I’ll take the tables by the dance floor and the kitchen?”

 

“I’ll take outside and everywhere else,” he agrees. She reaches up to peck him on the lips.

 

“Great, see you soon.”

 

Jemma grabs another flute of champagne and makes the rounds. She chats with Natasha Romanoff, one of Hollywood’s best publicists, about the upcoming London premiere of Maveth. Then she moves on to conversation with esteemed but troubled actor Tony Stark and his long-suffering manager-slash-girlfriend, Pepper Potts. Jemma briefly fears she might nod off during an incredibly dull conversation with the Koenig brothers, but is mercifully saved by Skye popping out of nowhere and grabbing her by the wrist.

 

“We’re taking group pictures!” Skye exclaims excitedly. “Come on, we can’t do it without you!”

 

“Thank you so much,” Jemma gushes as she chases after Skye toward the den. “I didn’t think I could fall asleep standing up until just then.”

 

Skye laughs. “Tell me about it, those two are _obsessed_ with Phil.”

 

“How are Hunter and Bobbi?” Jemma asks worriedly. Skye rolls her eyes.

 

“Oh, they’re fine now. They disappeared into your bathroom and came back out just fine.”

 

“I’m going to have to burn down my bathroom, aren’t I?” Jemma asks. Skye scrunches up her face as they reach the photo area.

 

“I think so, yeah.”

 

Fitz has abandoned his suit jacket, sleeves rolled up to his elbows to ward off the heat of the party. She watches with interest as he deftly loosens his tie, tugging on the knot and sliding it back and forth. Skye catches her gaze and bumps her hip against Jemma’s.

 

“Keep it in your pants, Simmons. Picture time!”

 

Jemma has never been particularly fond of having her picture taken at events. Even after eight years of stardom, she’s not quite accustomed to it, but she finds that a series of photos with her dearest friends is a whole lot of fun. They only make it through two cutely posed pictures before Skye is clambering onto Trip’s back and Bobbi is making fun of Hunter’s height by standing even taller in her high heels.

 

“Okay, okay, pretend to be each other!” Skye calls out. “I’m Jemma, Hunter’s Fitz, Jemma is Bobbi, Bobbi is me, Trip is Hunter, and Fitz is Trip!”

 

They all stare at her for a moment, trying to put together what she’s said, and then they all jump into action. Jemma and Trip stand back to back, arms crossed and petulant looks on their faces. Fitz assumes a cool and collected pose and Bobbi drapes herself around him with a wide, goofy grin. Just as the camera goes off, Hunter puts his hand over Skye’s lips and dips her down into a dramatic stage kiss. When he rights them both, Fitz shakes his head in amusement.

 

“You think pretty highly of me, Hunter.”

 

“You two have been disgusting all night,” Hunter teases. “Really, nauseating stuff.”

 

“How do we get these?” Skye asks the photographer. He opens his mouth to explain and a voice cuts him off.

 

“Do you still do the password-protected emails?” Kara asks.

 

“Kara,” Jemma breathes. She steps forward but Bobbi moves to stand in front of her. “What are you doing here? Where have you been?”

 

Kara smiles nervously. “I can explain, I promise. I just…wanted to come over and say hi. You always throw the best parties.”

 

“Where’s Ward?” Fitz barks.

 

Kara blinks and stumbles back a step. “I…like I said, I can explain.”

 

“Fitz, Scotland,” Jemma says seriously. “Please.”

 

“But Jemma, Kara is—“

 

“Here, to enjoy the party,” Jemma says with a weak smile. “And I do hope you have fun this evening, Kara. I would like to speak with you soon. Can we have lunch tomorrow?”

 

“Yes!” Kara says immediately. “Definitely.”

 

“Great,” Jemma says, stepping around Bobbi and moving to leave the den. “I’ll text you in the morning and we’ll decide where.”

 

“Jemma!” Fitz calls out, chasing after her down the hall. She steps over the barrier to the stairs and he leaps over it in pursuit. “Jemma, wait.”

 

“In my room,” she says. He nods and follows her, shutting the door behind her.

 

“Jemma, you can’t be serious. She’s here, we can figure out what happened—“

 

“I don’t understand why she’s here,” Jemma says, spinning around to face him. “But I don’t want to deal with it right now.”

 

“And why not?”

 

“Because I don’t want to think about it!” Jemma bursts out. She throws her hands up in frustration and begins pacing. “I could have _died!_ For a split moment, I thought for sure that I was going to. And yes, maybe Ward did it. Maybe Kara even had something to do with it but I was having _fun_ tonight. I’m _happy._ And I would really like to continue with our Scotland rules. Tomorrow is the New Year and then we’ll face the fact that one of my trusted friends may have tried to kill me. Until then, let me have tonight. Please.”

 

He swallows and takes three steps toward her, gathering her in his arms. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. Tonight, it’s off-limits.”

 

“Thank you,” she murmurs into his shoulder. “It’s nearly midnight, isn’t it?”

 

“Just about,” he smiles, kissing her forehead. “Shall we head back downstairs?”

 

She sighs dramatically. “Is it bad that I’d almost rather change into my pajamas and just ring in midnight alone with you here?”

 

Fitz laughs, tilting her chin up so that he can drop a sweet kiss to her lips. “You’re getting old, Simmons.”

 

“You’ll have to trade me in for a newer model,” she teases. He grins wryly and shakes his head.

 

“No. Never.”

 

He leads her back to the party by the hand, staying even closer to her than he had before Kara’s appearance. Her friends surround her, everyone pretending that nothing out of the ordinary has happened. In the last hour before the new year begins, Jemma forgets all about the fall. She forgets about those horrible fights she and Fitz have had in recent months. She forgets about everything, other than the fact that she’s incredibly lucky to be surrounded by such fantastic, amazing people.

 

The DJ starts counting down from 10 and Jemma tugs Fitz into her arms, fingers playing idly with the hair at the back of his neck.

 

“Here we go,” she beams. “Are you ready for another year of me?”

 

He grins back at her, brushing his nose against hers. “Oh, absolutely.”

 

“Three! Two! One!” the crowd chants in unison. Jemma’s guest make a ruckus, cheering and hollering and blowing into kazoos. Just as Hunter had done to Skye earlier, Fitz twirls Jemma into a dip and presses his lips to hers as she giggles against his mouth. When he rights her, she’s flushed and rumpled.

 

“Oh, that’s gonna make _such_ a cute photo for your desk,” Skye laughs, holding up her phone.

 

Jemma blushes in embarrassment but makes no effort to put space between herself and Fitz. They spend an hour out at one of the many bonfires, joined by Phil and Melinda who bicker over their preferred levels of marshmallow doneness. Jemma yawns widely and Phil chuckles, leaning over to pat her on the head.

 

“Hit the hay, kiddo.”

 

“The party’s not over until 2:30.”

 

“We’ll stay, watch over everyone,” Melinda offers. “You’re still jet lagged.”

 

Bobbi is already sleeping, slumped in Hunter’s arms. He grins down at her and kisses her temple. “Yeah, looks like she’s pretty knackered too. We ought to head out.”

 

“We’re going on a hike tomorrow,” Trip sighs, standing and offering a hand to Skye. “We oughta head home, too.”

 

They say their goodbyes, Hunter jostling Bobbi awake and leading her to their hired car. Trip and Skye head home in their town car and Fitz and Jemma shuffle sleepily up the stairs.

 

Wordlessly, she turns and holds up her hair. He unzips her dress for her, placing a tender kiss as the base of her neck. It drops to the floor and pools at her feet. His hands wrap around her, fingers playing at her hips and she leans back against him. She must put too much of her weight on him, because his chuckle reverberates through his chest against her back.

 

“Let’s get you to bed,” he murmurs fondly. “You’re exhausted.”

 

“But I wanna…”

 

“You wanna nothing,” he says. He separates from her and turns to her closet, tossing her favorite pajamas at her with a stern look. “Get dressed.”

 

“You’re boring.”

 

He rolls his eyes, unbuttoning his shirt. Her eyes trail down his chest and she bites her lip.

 

“Jemma, no.”

 

She shakes her head and stands, running her hands up his torso and into his hair. “You’re not the boss of me.”

 

She presses up on her toes, capturing his mouth in a heated kiss. He responds immediately, following her back onto the bed. They tumble back, limbs tangling together as she clumsily nips at him.

 

“Jemma,” he whines. “You’re half asleep, sweetheart.”

 

“Sweetheart,” she replies. “I like that.”

 

“Oh do you?” he teases. “Alright, sweetheart. Pajamas on, into bed you get.”

 

Accepting her defeat, she slips into her clothes and crawls between the sheets, sighing in contentment as Fitz takes his place behind her. His hand snakes over her hip and he nuzzles into her hair.

 

“Jemma?”

  
“Yeah?”

 

“If tonight is any indication of what the year will be like, I think it’s gonna be our best one yet.”

 

“Me too.”

 


	19. Explanations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma has lunch with Kara and discovers the truth about her accident. Unsure what to do with this information, she goes to Melinda for help. Meanwhile, Fitz takes the news exactly as Jemma expects him to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys! It's finally done! I do think this ended up being better than the version I deleted, but I do apologize for the fact that this only got a quick once-over before i posted it. I'll admit I was just entirely too impatient to get this out to you guys, so forgive me for any typos! 
> 
> Next up: Maveth premieres and Jemma faces an unwanted presence from her past.

“I still don’t think you should go,” Fitz says for the thousandth time. “What if this is a set up?”

 

Jemma rolls her eyes and focuses on clasping her necklace. “Don’t be ridiculous, Fitz.”

 

“I’m not being ridiculous!” he yelps, sitting up in bed. She glances at him through the mirror and smiles slightly. The sight of him, shirtless and rumpled beneath her sheets, never fails to put a flutter in her gut. “She wants you dead, Jemma.”

 

“You have absolutely no proof of that,” she says primly. She leans forward to apply her mascara. “You know exactly where I’ll be. I assure you, if I’m not back within the next hour and a half you can storm the restaurant.”

 

“Promise?” he mumbles.

 

She smiles into the mirror with a fond shake of her head. “I promise. The cleaning crew is already out of here, so feel free to move about the house.”

 

“I was probably gonna head home,” Fitz says. She frowns and looks over her shoulder.

 

“How come?”

 

“I haven’t been to my place in weeks,” he reminds her with a short laugh. “I have some things to sort through and a couple of things I ought to do today.”

 

“It’s New Years Day!” she protests. “Nobody is doing anything today. Stay here. When I get back we can go do something fun. Maybe take Widge to the beach?”

 

He considers this propositions and grins. “Alright, yeah. That sounds good. I do have to head home to grab a few things, though. I’ll probably beat you back here.”

 

“Sounds good,” she chirps. She leans forward to kiss him quickly on the lips. It hasn’t escaped her notice that he always looks vaguely surprised by her small demonstrations of romantic affection. “I’ll keep you posted.”

 

“An hour and a half,” he teases.

 

“Yes, an hour and a half until you come in with guns blazing,” she jokes back.

 

Widget hops up onto the bed to lay with Fitz, who reaches out absently to pet the little dog. “Hey, sweetie. Glad to see you survived the party.”

 

Jemma subtly pulls out her phone to snap a quick photo of the moment before he can stop her. She slips it back into her bag and heads down the stairs, opting to drive her Mini Cooper to her and Kara’s meeting place. Jemma had called ahead that morning, asking for a particularly secluded table so that the two of them could talk freely.

 

Butterflies rise up in her stomach the closer she gets to where Kara will be meeting her. Jemma desperately wants all of this—all of the suspicions about foul play in her accident—to be untrue. She wants this accident to be just that—an accident. She doesn’t want to doubt the people in her life, doesn’t want to face the fact that perhaps all of the fame and money and acclaim puts a target on her back.

 

All she’s ever wanted to be was an actress, and she didn’t want any of this. She wanted people to feel understood and connected, and the golden trophies on her mantel were simply proof that she’d done so exceptionally well.

 

She gets out of her powder blue Mini and gives the key to the valet, walking into the restaurant on trembling legs. She wonders fleetingly if she shouldn’t have waited to have this conversation, put it off for a day where she wasn’t vaguely hungover and sick feeling. Jemma shakes herself.

 

It’s time that this whole thing be over and done with, pushed behind her. All Jemma wants to do is move forward toward better and brighter things. She thinks of Fitz, waiting at home for her, and she steels herself.

 

“Hello, I’m Jemma Simmons. I’m meeting a friend,” Jemma tells the hostess, a young girl who looks as though she may still be wearing last night’s makeup. The blonde gives her a tremulous smile.

 

“Yes, Miss Simmons. Follow me, please.”

 

She follows the hostess to a table in a small alcove, where Kara sits on her phone. As soon as she hears footsteps, Kara looks up from the device and throws it in her purse.

 

“Jemma. Hi. I wasn’t sure if you were actually going to come.”

 

Jemma musters up her best smile and nods, taking a seat. “It was my idea, wasn’t it?”

 

“I ordered us both some water,” Kara offers, gesturing at the glass in front of Jemma. “I figured…New Years Day and all…”

 

The end of her sentence trails off into silence and Jemma shifts in her seat. “Let’s take a look at the menu, shall we?” Jemma asks brightly. “We’ll order and then we can talk without interruption.”

 

Kara nods gratefully and hides behind her large menu. A few minutes later, their waiter comes by and they order their food, handing off their menus and their last source of protection from the conversation to be had.

 

“I’m so sorry I didn’t come to check on you,” Kara blurts out when the waiter walks away. “I really was worried, but I couldn’t get ahold of Grant. I knew something had gone wrong, and I wasn’t sure what was going on.”

 

Jemma licks her lips and nods. “I’m still assuming that it was an accident, Kara, but you have to admit that both you and Ward have been acting suspicious ever since. No one has been able to find you.”

 

Kara winces. “I—well, I needed to find him. And once I did and got some answers, I just figured that you would think I had something to do with it.”

 

“I wouldn’t have,” Jemma argues. “If you had just come to me and talked to me…”

 

“I had to find him first,” Kara repeats emphatically. She reaches into her handbag and pulls out a folder, sliding it across the table to Jemma. “When I saw the news that day, I just _knew_ something was up. The day before I asked you to get Grant the coordinator job, I overheard a conversation between him and John Garrett.”

 

Jemma’s hands grip onto the folder with white knuckles “What was…what was said?”

 

“Garrett was upset that they’d cancelled his movie to get funding for yours. That was going to be Grant’s big break into acting, you know. Garrett got him all worked up, talking about how the select few stars in Hollywood get to have everything and there’s no way for guys like Grant to get a chance to really break in to the big roles.”

 

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” Jemma asks.

 

Kara shakes her head. “I didn’t think anything of it. It just seemed like a rant, a tangent about problems in the industry. It wasn’t necessarily _untrue_ either.”

 

Jemma bites her lip and nods. The fact that she and Fitz had the power to get someone’s entire project cancelled to make room fro their own was proof of that. “You’re right. It probably wasn’t.”

 

“I heard John ask Grant how far he would be willing to go to get what he wanted. In the context of the conversation, it just seemed like—how many acting classes are you willing to take? How many auditions are you willing to go on? You know, that kind of thing,” Kara explains, tucking her hair behind her ears nervously. “I never would have expected that it would mean hurting someone. Especially someone that I care about, someone that’s my friend.”

 

The more she talks, the faster and more nervous Kara becomes. Jemma reaches out to lightly touch her arm. “Kara, please. I’m perfectly willing to hear you out. Try to relax, alright?”

 

Kara gulps down a shaky breath and continues more slowly. “He and Grant left after that, to go get some lunch like they had originally planned. When he came home that night, he asked me if I would talk to you, because he’d heard they were re-filming a stunt from your new movie. He said that he and John had discussed it and that at this point, making a name for himself in stunts could get him the attention of a better agent.”

 

Jemma glances down at the folder in front of her, mind whirring through the story as Kara tells it. Whatever is in this folder is going to change everything. She just knows it.

 

“I agreed to talk to you for him, because I know how unhappy he’s been, getting turned down for so many parts. You accepted and I was so excited for him. He seemed really pleased with it. John didn’t come up again. I hadn’t heard anything about him since that day they went to lunch, which I realize now should have tipped me off to something. Grant and John have always spent so much time together. Grant’s family was abusive and horrible, and John really took him under his wing. He’s like a father to him.”

 

Kara shakes herself, sensing her digression from the important facts of the story. “But anyway, I saw what happened on the news. I called Grant’s phone and it was disconnected. I waited for him at home but he never came back. I went to the set and was told by security that he’d left shortly after you were airlifted out. I emailed him, texted him, everything—I couldn’t get ahold of him at all. We’ve been together for years. I knew he wouldn’t just abandon me like that without a good reason.”

 

Jemma feels a need to beg to differ, but instead she keeps her mouth shut and lets Kara plow forward with the story.

 

“I finally found him in Mexico, this little place that he bought when he was nineteen with his first big check. He admitted to me that he was in too deep with something way over his head. I asked him to please explain to me what happened. He admitted to me that he was responsible for your fall. Garrett put him up to it. He told Grant that it was the only way to get their film back. He knew he shouldn’t have done it. Garrett told him that if he didn’t do it, he would get someone else on the crew to do it and make it look like Grant did.”

 

“So if he did it himself, Garrett wouldn’t come forward and tell anyone,” Jemma muses. “But if he didn’t do it—“

 

“Then Garrett would play the hero and frame Grant,” Kara finishes. “Exactly. I know that probably sounds crazy—“

 

Jemma snorts. “I’ve heard crazier. Kara, are you safe?”

 

“Oh, I’m fine,” Kara says, brushing off her concern. “Grant would never hurt me. As far as I know, Garrett doesn’t know I ever found him.”

 

“So Grant is…”

 

“Gone,” Kara says sadly. “He wanted me to go with him, but…there was something I had to do first.”

 

She reaches over to tap on the folder and Jemma opens it slowly. With shaking hands, she leafs through the stack of papers. “Are these…?”

 

“Emails, text messages, phone records,” Kara tells her. “Between Garrett and Grant. It proves that Garrett forced Grant’s hand, but they also show that Grant actually _did_ it, so…”

 

“So I’ll be very careful with this information,” Jemma says resolutely, nodding brusquely.

 

“I know that it’s a lot to ask, but please, can you try to keep Grant out of this?” Kara asks nervously.

 

“He could have killed me,” Jemma says. Kara looks away, tears filling her eyes.

 

“I know. I’m so sorry, Jemma. If I had known, I would have found a way to stop it. But Grant is a good person. He’s had a hard life. He won’t show his face in this town ever again, but please…don’t get him sent to jail. He can’t do it again,” Kara pleads.

 

Jemma considers her carefully, fighting her conflicting emotions. On one hand, she’s furious and disgusted that someone would be willing to hurt her—to maybe even kill her—over funding for a film. On the other hand, she understands how parents and parental figures can manipulate someone into doing things they don’t want to do.

 

After all, Richard and Christine Simmons had certainly done a number on her.

 

“I promise,” Jemma says. “I’ll make sure that Ward isn’t involved in whatever I choose to do with this.”

 

“I know Fitz will fight you on that,” Kara points out.

 

“Oh, he most certainly will,” Jemma admits with a short laugh. “But as I’ve made quite clear to him, this isn’t about him. It’s about me. Someone tried to hurt me, and he’ll pay for it. I just haven’t quite decided how yet.”

 

Kara smirks and leans forward. “Well, if you need any more help in that department, keep me posted.”

 

“Are you returning to Grant?”

 

Kara shakes her head sadly as the waiter puts their plates down. “No. I’m going to try to get back to work, move on with my life. I…I really love him, but sometimes…sometimes you can’t save someone.”

 

“Too true,” Jemma agrees. “Well, I would love to keep employing you, Kara. You’re a great make-up artist and I really appreciate the fact that you came to me with all of this, despite the risk that it could get you or Grant in trouble.”

 

“It was the right thing to do,” Kara replies. “Thank you, Jemma. For not freaking out.”

 

“Oh I am freaking out,” Jemma jokes. “But in case you hadn’t heard, I’m a professional actress. I’m quite good at it.”

 

Kara throws her head back in a laugh. “I missed you.”

 

“Missed you too,” Jemma quips, taking a large bite from her sandwich.

 

She catches Kara staring nervously at the folder between them. Jemma grabs it and puts it in her bag with a little smile. They finish their lunch making amicable, if a little awkward, conversation.

 

As soon as Jemma gets back in her car, she places the folder on the seat beside her. She knows she can’t bring it back home yet. Fitz will have a field day with this new information and will undoubtedly want to run off to the nearest police station immediately.

 

So she sends him a quick text instead, letting him know that she’s leaving, lunch was fine, and she’s running a few errands that she’s been putting off since before Scotland. He responds immediately, letting her know that he’ll be there when she gets back.

 

She feels guilty for lying to him as she drives to Melinda’s house, but Melinda is the only person she can imagine as being helpful in this type of situation. There’s always been something…sketchy, about Melinda’s stoicism. Melinda’s mother, rumor has it, was once an FBI agent. Jemma is fairly certain that Melinda will know what to do about the file beside her and Jemma can certainly trust her to be discrete about the sensitive information.

 

Jemma pulls into Melinda’s driveway and brings the folder, tucked beneath her arm. She knocks on the door and Melinda answers almost immediately, looking concerned.

 

“Jemma. What are you doing here?”

 

“I have something I need to run by you,” Jemma says nervously. She flutters the folder in one hand. “I just had lunch with Kara.”

 

“Kara Palamas?”

 

“Yes,” Jemma answers. “She gave me some information that I’m not quite sure what to do with. I was hoping you could help.”

 

Melinda swings the door open and lets Jemma enter the house. “Show me what you’ve got.”

 

They sit down in Melinda’s monochrome living room and Jemma explains Kara’s story, spreading out the papers from the folder on May’s coffee table. Her manager analyzes them, expression detached as she reads the vague and coded messages sent back and forth between Garrett and Ward.

 

“Well, this isn’t going to be enough for a conviction, that’s for sure,” May finally says, leaning back in her chair. “It’s enough for me to want to string them both up by their—“

 

“That won’t be necessary,” Jemma interrupts. “Really. Kara has assured me that Ward is gone for good. He’ll never come back here. I don’t want to involve either of them, but if Garrett was willing to go this far over a film…we’ve got to make sure he can’t do this again.”

 

May grimaces in response. “I agree, but like I said, this won’t be enough to put him away.”

 

“What can we do then?” Jemma asks, practically pleading. “When I bring these to Fitz, I have to have some kind of plan to tell him about.”

 

Melinda’s eyebrows shoot up. “You haven’t told Fitz yet?”

 

“I brought these straight from lunch with Kara,” Jemma admits. “He’s too hot-headed. He’s too close to this. You know how he can be.”

 

“I most certainly do,” Melinda agrees. “He won’t like that you waited.”

 

“No, he won’t. Which is why I really need something to present him with, something that will make him feel better about the whole situation.”

 

“Nothing is going to make him feel better about the situation,” Melinda says dully. “You didn’t watch the footage.”

 

“And I still don’t want to,” she says seriously. “I just want to move on from this. Why can’t anyone understand that?”

 

Melinda looks up from the paper in her hands, meeting Jemma’s eyes and searching for something within them. Melinda nods and sets the papers aside. “I do understand. More than you know. Will you let me keep this and show them to Phil? He’s connected to people in very high places. If you let us take the lead on this, we’ll make sure he’s blacklisted by everyone in this city.”

 

“And you’re sure you two can do this?” Jemma asks, worrying her thumb with her teeth.

 

“Do you remember Daniel Whitehall?” Melinda shoots back.

 

Jemma frowns and shakes her head. “No, I don’t know who that is.”

 

“Exactly,” Melinda says, lips quirking upward in an enigmatic and slightly chilling smile. “We’ll take care of this for you. You have my word.”

 

“Thank you,” Jemma replies. She launches herself at Melinda in a hug, completely unsurprised by her manager’s awkward pat on the back in response.

 

“You’re welcome. You know that I’m always here for you.”

 

“I do,” Jemma confirms, backing away. “While I’m here, are you and Phil coming with us to London for the premiere?”

 

Melinda shakes her head. “No, we aren’t. We’ll deal with this, and Phil also has some meetings with Skye’s network.”

 

“I thought Skye wouldn’t let him represent her.”

 

“Oh, she won’t,” Melinda scoffs. “But Phil has a tendency to do what he wants. He’s negotiating a pay raise for next season, since she’s technically the one who brought Fitz on and saved the show.”

 

“Well, she certainly deserves it. Perhaps Fitz and I will bring Bobbi and Hunter then.”

 

“As usual, you can bring whoever you want,” Melinda shrugs. “The jet seats eight, so knock yourself out.”

 

“And um…my parents? Are they aware of the event?”

 

“Unless they’ve heard about it through other channels, they don’t know you’ll be in London,” Melinda says. “Phil and I assumed that if you wanted them there, you’d invite them yourself.”

 

Jemma smiles softly. “You two know me so well.”

 

“It’s been a very long time,” Melinda concedes. She gestures to the papers on her coffee table. “I’m going to call Phil and have him come over to look at these with me. We’ll decide if we should take them to Hill first or just go straight to Nick Fury. I’ll keep you posted.”

 

Jemma considers the print-outs and tilts her head to the side. “Do you think I should bring those home first? To show them to Fitz?”

 

Melinda shakes her head sharply. “No. Just tell him the minimum, about Kara’s story and the fact that there are some emails. Let him know that Phil and I are dealing with it. He knows that we’re good at this. If it wasn’t for Phil, all of those emails between you and Mack while you were shooting Hydra would have been leaked, too.”

 

Jemma swallows hard at the memory. “Hopefully he remembers that as gratefully as I do. I should head back and face the music, then. Thank you, Melinda, again. I can’t imagine what either of us would do with you.”

 

Melinda gives her a small smile and walks her to the door, leaving the rest unspoken.

 

Jemma is halfway home when she realizes she told Fitz she was running errands. Sighing, she turns around and heads to the drug store to pick up a few random items. For good measure, she stops by Whole Foods for a few snacks.

 

***

 

When Jemma gets back home around 5:00, she finds Fitz cursing and wildly running around her kitchen. Smoke fills the space and she stifles a laugh at the sight of him wearing her favorite orange and pink Anthropologie apron. Widget looks entirely unimpressed, lying on one of her many beds spread around the house. She hardly even glances at Jemma when she enters, simply rolling over to face the wall. Jemma often wonders if Widget feels like an exhausted parent when it comes to her and Fitz.

 

“What’s going on here?” Jemma asks mock-sternly. Fitz turns around with wide, guilty eyes, holding a steaming pan of what she can only assume was an edible substance at some point.

 

“I…may have burned something.”

 

“May have?” she laughs, walking over to take it from him. Her nose crinkles as she stares down at the charred mess before tossing the entire pan in the garbage. “What on earth was this?”

 

“Its original form was shrimp,” he grimaces. “But it now appears to have become some unknown life form. I’m pretty sure I saw that one trying to fight its way out of the massacre.”

 

Jemma giggles, leaning over to kiss him before opening a window to release some of the smoke. Fitz smiles into the kiss and then busies himself with unloading the sparse groceries she brought back.

 

“What’s all this for?” she asks, gesturing around the messy kitchen.

 

“Just trying to do something nice,” he mumbles, staring down at his feet in embarrassment. “It backfired. Literally, there was a fire.”

 

She rolls her eyes and pats his cheek affectionately. “I appreciate the thought, but maybe no more cooking attempts. At the very least, burn down your own apartment next time.”

 

He grins. “Deal. Let’s go out for dinner, then. We can just go somewhere close, I heard there’s a new place in West Hollywood that’s really good.”

 

“Sounds good to me,” Jemma agrees. “Casual?”

  
“Yeah, it’s sort of a gastro-pub type of thing,” he answers. “What you’re wearing is fine, before you ask.”

 

She smiles and picks up her purse again, leaning down to pat Widget. “Did you…?”

 

“Yep, I fed her and took her on a walk about two hours ago,” he says, answering her unasked question. A rush of affection floods her and she grabs onto him, pulling him down for a long kiss. He pulls away before the heat can really build and she whines. “Hey, I’m hungry. There’s plenty of time for that later.”

 

“For a guy who’s apparently had feelings for me for six years, you have no problem spurning my advances,” she pouts, following him toward the door. He turns around so fast that she collides with his chest.

 

“Hey,” he protests. “I’m not _spurning_ anything.”

 

She smiles softly, tangling her hand with his. “I know you’re not, I was just teasing.”

 

“Good. I’d hate for you to forget the nearly unlimited power you have over me, Simmons.”

 

“Oh, that’s just not true,” she teases as they finally make their way out onto her driveway. “I never convinced you to do that silly cartoon movie.”

 

“The monkey was the bad guy,” he deadpans. “I can’t support that kind of nonsense.”

 

“I know, it was foolish of me to even try,” she laughs. She tosses him her car keys. Fitz seamlessly catches them and unlocks the door, Jemma slipping into the passenger seat. They arrive at their destination and Fitz manages to snag a parallel parking spot.

 

“I love your little go-kart,” he grins. “I can park this thing anywhere.”

 

“You made fun of me when I bought this,” she reminds him. “If I do recall, you said it was like driving around in an aluminum can.”

 

“Oh, I still think this car will eventually be what kills you,” he says flippantly. “But your death will not be from parking-related starvation.”

 

He leads her inside and they snag a table easily. She feels a little bit guilty for surpassing every line at every restaurant, but she’s quite hungry and eager to get their conversation about Kara over with. The noise level of the pub is just loud enough to make her comfortable discussing a sensitive matter in public, especially since they’re seated in a far corner with a good amount of distance between their table and the nearest one.

 

“So, how was Kara?” Fitz asks carefully.

 

“She’s doing okay,” Jemma responds. “She…had some things to explain to me.”

 

His jaw twitches, a tell-tale sign of his stress at the topic. “And what did she have to say for herself?”

 

“You were right,” Jemma admits a bit breathlessly. “It wasn’t an accident.”

 

She reaches out quickly to grab his hands as they form into fists, hoping to prevent him from one of his trademark tantrums and drawing attention to them.

 

“Please, Fitz. Calm down and let me finish.”

 

He snorts derisively but says nothing, so Jemma continues. She fills him in on Ward’s run to Mexico, Garrett’s influence over him, and the way that Ward was blackmailed into committing the act. When she finishes her explanation, he’s gaping at her with a hint of betrayal in his eyes.

 

“You told Melinda first,” he says disbelievingly. “I can’t believe you went to her first.”

 

“She seemed like she would know what to do,” Jemma rushes to explain. “She and Phil have so many connections, and with her mother’s past—“

 

“You’re not going to show me the emails, are you?” he demands.

 

“They’re with Melinda,” Jemma mumbles. “I…Fitz, I knew you wouldn’t approve of not taking them to police, but Melinda said that it wouldn’t even be enough to get a conviction.”

 

“Melinda’s not a lawyer,” Fitz growls. “And she’s not a cop, either. It’s…it’s bloody irresponsible is what it is. Destroying that bastard’s career isn’t enough for me, Jemma.”

 

“Yeah well this didn’t happen to you!” she exclaims in frustration. “ _I’m_ the one who got hurt, Fitz, not you. This is my problem to deal with, not yours.”

 

He leans back in his chair and they stare at one another for a long, quiet moment.

 

“I almost lost you forever,” he says so quietly she nearly misses it. “I sat in a room with Phil and Melinda and Bobbi and some doctor telling me that you might never wake up. That you might not _remember me.”_

“Yes, I know that feeling well,” Jemma snaps. Her hand flies to her mouth with regret and he pinches the bridge of his nose.

 

“I did that to myself. The only person to punish was me, and you did that just fine.”

 

Her jaw drops open in shock. “Fitz…”

 

He shakes his head, holding up a hand to cut her off. “I know you weren’t trying to punish me. But that’s what it felt like. And it made things…better for me, somehow. I knew how much I’d hurt you, doing what I did. The punishment of losing you for it fit the crime of hurting you that way.”

 

Her breath hitches and she has to look away from his eyes.

 

“But Jemma, ruining this man’s career? That punishment doesn’t fit the crime of nearly _killing_ you.”

 

“Well what would you suggest then?” she fires back. “We drop him off of a giant platform and see how he likes it? That’s now how things work, Fitz.”

 

“I want him to go to jail.”

 

“Even if there was enough for a conviction,” Jemma says, “and there most likely _isn’t,_ do you really think that would put an end to all of this? That he wouldn’t get out and be even more angry, even more vengeful?”

 

“But ending his career won’t do the same thing?”

 

“He did this because he felt like we’d ruined his career,” Jemma suggests. “So what better punishment than _actually_ destroying his career? We make him unemployable. We take everything.”

 

“And what about Ward?”

 

“I promised Kara that we would leave Ward alone,” Jemma tells him. He reacts exactly the way she expected.

 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

 

“Fitz—“

 

He takes a deep breath and rubs at his eyes, frustrated. “Look, we’re obviously going to disagree on this. And you’re right, this happened to you. At the end of the day, it’s your call. But that doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it.”

 

Jemma nods, reaching over to squeeze his hand. This is the best she’s going to get from him and she knows it. “Thank you.”

 

“I’m hiring someone,” Fitz says firmly. “You need security.”

 

She rolls her eyes. “I don’t need a security detail, Fitz, don’t be ridiculous. You know how much I hate that. You and I—things are so good between us, and I don’t want some giant following us around and interrupting our privacy.”

 

“Fine,” he concedes. “Then I’m hiring someone to follow Garrett. And Ward, wherever the hell he is.”

 

Jemma raises her hands in defeat. “Fine. Deal. Now can we please enjoy a nice meal together?”

 

He musters up a small smile, thumb rubbing little circles on her hand. “Sure, Jemma. Whatever you want.”

 

When Jemma falls asleep that night, tangled up in Fitz and Widget at her feet, she dreams of falling. She dreams of wind and of Grant Ward, standing on the platform. She dreams of screaming and grasping and death waiting to catch her.

 

In her dreams, Fitz catches her instead.

 

She startles awake when the safety raft disappears beneath them and they both drown.


	20. Walk Tall, Simmons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma and Fitz head to London for the premiere of Maveth, accompanied by Hunter and Bobbi. Unexpected guests from Jemma's past cause tension at dinner, but she doesn't let it stop her from crossing the line she's been eying for months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY, it's here. I know it's taken me forever to update. School got incredibly busy and some family issues piled on top of it made writing nearly impossible. 
> 
> To make up for the lengthy, unintentional hiatus, this is kind of an uber-chapter, clocking out at over 8k. 
> 
> Also a bit of a warning: the end of this chapter is mature content.

Fitz shifts slightly on the leather couch of the jet, careful not to jostle Jemma. He brushes his hands through her hair, smiling slightly as her arm tightens around his waist.

 

“I’ve never seen her so happy, you know,” Bobbi says quietly, breaking the silence. Hunter lays with his head in her lap, completely asleep. Jemma had been comforted to find that she wasn’t the only one with severe anxiety on planes.

 

“You seem happy, too,” Fitz says, attempting to evade Bobbi’s attempt at talking about his and Jemma’s relationship. It’s not that he doesn’t want to talk about it—in fact, Jemma is pretty much the only thing he ever wants to talk about, these days.

 

“I am,” Bobbi admits softly, staring down at Hunter for a long moment before dragging her eyes back to Fitz. “I didn’t really expect this.”

 

Fitz smiles crookedly. “I don’t think anyone ever does.”

 

“I know you think you love her more than she loves you,” Bobbi blurts out. Fitz stiffens, checking to make sure that Jemma remains asleep.

 

“What?”

 

“I can tell,” Bobbi says simply. “I’ve known both of you for a long time, almost as long as you’ve known each other. Just because she didn’t figure it out as quickly as you did, doesn’t mean she’s not crazy about you.”

 

Fitz licks his lips. “I don’t…I don’t think that.”

 

Bobbi gives him a look, the kind that shows him she’s unimpressed with his behavior and absolutely does not believe him. “I know you hired those P.I.s to follow Garrett and Ward, and I know you’re still angry that Phil and Melinda are taking care of this instead of going to the police.”

 

“Of course I’m angry,” Fitz says. “How could I _not_ be angry? She nearly died, all because of a fucking film. All because of money and power and bullshit, and now instead of making that man pay for what he’s done, I’m just supposed to sit back and pretend like ruining his job is enough to make up for it.”

 

“It all happened because of money and power and bullshit,” Bobbi agrees. “So taking away his money and his power and leaving him with only bullshit is pretty good karmic justice, if you ask me.”

 

“Yeah well, karmic justice doesn’t do it for me,” Fitz replies through gritted teeth. Bobbi nods in understanding, fingertips brushing against Hunter’s forehead briefly.

 

“Remember when the whole world found out about Will Daniels?” Bobbi asks. Fitz nods tersely and she continues. “Jemma was so broken up about the whole thing, especially when she found out who leaked the story. You and I were just…so pissed. Both of us were uncontrollably angry, remember?”

 

Fitz scoffs. “I could never forget that feeling.”

 

“Right,” Bobbi agrees. “Neither can I. But what did we do to him, Fitz? How did we get back at him?”

 

“We—didn’t,” Fitz says, face slightly puzzled. “We didn’t do anything to him.”

 

“Well that’s not true,” Bobbi laughs. “You did sock him in the face.”

 

“Well, other than that.”

 

“Which is exactly my point,” Bobbi continues. “We didn’t do anything to him. Sure, he still has a career, but it’s nothing compared to what it was before, and it definitely is nowhere near where he would have been if he hadn’t screwed Jemma over like that. A couple months after it all went down, Jemma was up there getting an Oscar and he was doing a protein shake commercial. She felt good about that.”

 

“She wanted to prove he didn’t break her,” Fitz muses, mostly to himself. “She wanted to show him that no matter what he did, she was still going to do what she does best.”

 

Bobbi hums with a little smile on her face. “And that’s what she wants to do now, Fitz. That’s what she’s trying to do. She wants to show John Garrett that he didn’t win. Not only did she take his funding, she survived what he tried to do to her. Maveth is premiering and it’s already getting huge praise from critics that went to the pre-screening. There’s Oscar buzz for both of you as it is, and now even more people are getting excited for your new project. Jemma just wants to make this film, and she wants it to be amazing work.”

 

“It will be,” Fitz says certainly. “We’ve worked our asses off on it. We won’t let this thing become mediocre.”

 

“Neither of you have ever done anything mediocre,” Bobbi reminds him with a smile. “So just let her do what she needs to do, Fitz. Let her prove it to him.”

 

He sighs heavily and nods. “Alright. You’re right. I’ll stop being so negative about the whole thing.”

 

“Good,” Bobbi nods back. “She needs you on her side. You’re all that really matters to her.”

 

“How did you manage to circle us back into this?” Fitz teases. “I swear, in another life you would have made a great interrogator.”

 

“Maybe when my good looks are gone, I’ll make a career change,” Bobbi jokes. “But seriously, Fitz. What’s going on between you two?”

 

“I—don’t actually know. We’re _something,_ obviously. We hardly spend any time apart and we…kiss and all of that.”

 

“Do you do…more than kissing?” Bobbi asks, waggling her eyebrows. Fitz flushes bright red.

 

“We haven’t done _that_ yet, if that’s what you’re implying.”

 

“And why not?” Bobbi presses.

 

“I want it to be right,” he mumbles quietly, staring down at the top of Jemma’s head. “it’s the last line to cross, you know? We haven’t even made a public appearance together yet and I’ve no idea if she even considers me her boyfriend. Once this last line is crossed, there won’t be any going back for me. I won’t be able to just go back to how things were, if she changes her mind.”

 

“She won’t change her mind,” Bobbi assures him. “She loves you, Fitz.”

 

“Of course she loves me,” he concedes. “We’ve loved each other since we were kids. We’re best friends.”

 

“You’re more than that,” Bobbi smirks. “And you have to believe that she’s doing what she wants. You have to believe that she wants you the same way that you want her, or this is never going to work. Like I said, I’ve never seen her this happy. Even with everything going on, even after finding out that someone tried to _kill her,_ she’s the happiest she’s ever been.”

 

Fitz considers her words carefully. “I guess I have been holding back a bit. I keep thinking the other shoe’s gonna drop.”

 

“Yeah, I know,” Bobbi says wryly. “Which is why I’m even having this conversation with you.”

 

“Hunter’s serious about you,” Fitz says suddenly. Bobbi blinks in surprise and Fitz chuckles. “What, you can grill me but I can’t do the same?”

 

“Hunter is…Hunter,” Bobbi sighs. “He’s a musician. He’s always travelling, he’s got his pick of any woman he wants…he’s new to all of this. He’s new to fame and this world and it’s only a matter of time before he gets completely caught up in it.”

 

“That’s not true,” Fitz protests. “Sure, he’s new to this, but just because he can have whoever he wants doesn’t mean he wouldn’t pick you anyway.”

 

Bobbi shrugs self-deprecatingly. “I just remember what it was like. All of a sudden I had all this money and I was travelling the world. Everything I could ever want was at my fingertips.”

 

“Sure, but you were a kid,” Fitz reminds her. “You, me, Jemma…all of us got shoved into this when we were teenagers. Hunter didn’t.”

 

Bobbi nods slowly. “I guess you’re right.”

 

“Just trust him,” Fits suggests. Bobbi snorts gracelessly and he laughs lightly. “I know. Easier said than done. But he seems to really care about you and you shouldn’t push him away.”

 

“I haven’t been!” Bobbi protests. Fitz raises his eyebrows doubtfully and she bites her lip. “Alright, a little bit, maybe.”

 

“Bob?” Hunter asks sleepily. He sits up, rubbing his eyes and regaining his bearings. “Are we still moving?”

 

“Yes,” Bobbi tells him with a kiss to one of his scruffy cheeks. “We’re still in the sky, hon.”

 

Hunter blanches. “How much longer?”

 

“Oh, a few more hours,” Bobbi tells him. “Why don’t you go back to sleep, alright?”

 

He shakes his head. “Nah, I’m okay. I’ll be fine. What have you two been doing?”

 

“Just practicing the art of being a human pillow,” Fitz jokes, jerking his head to Jemma curled around him.

 

“Can I turn the TV on?” Hunter asks, gesturing at the large flat screen. “Putting something on might be a good distraction.”

 

“Of course,” Fitz says. “Jemma’ll stay asleep.”

 

“No I won’t,” she mumbles suddenly. Fitz jerks in surprise and she laughs, voice raspy. “I woke up right around the time Hunter started talking.”

 

“Right then, a movie it is,” Hunter says, clapping his hands and moving to stand. He sits back down immediately, looking bashfully to his girlfriend. “Uh, Bob?”

 

She rolls her eyes fondly and ruffles his hair. “I’ll get the remote. Just stay seated.”

 

Jemma smiles softly at Hunter. “I don’t like standing in planes either. My legs feel like jelly.”

 

“Exactly!” Hunter exclaims. “Finally, someone who gets it.”

 

Fitz meets Bobbi’s eyes on the other side of the plane. They exchange a little grin.

 

***

 

“Damn, nice place,” Hunter praises as Fitz lets them in to his London flat.

 

“Thanks,” Fitz says. “The room on the right is all yours.”

 

“Thanks for bringing us,” Bobbi says, slipping out of her jacket and tossing it on a nearby chair. “It’s a shame Trip and Skye couldn’t make it.”

 

“Yeah, Skye is in contract negotiations,” Jemma explains. “And Trip has a screen test for some new action movie.”

 

“All work and no play,” Hunter sighs. “How very tragic.”

 

“This is technically work for us,” Fitz reminds him, pointing between himself and Jemma. “We have a press panel tomorrow morning and then the premiere in the evening.”

 

“When is your mom coming?” Bobbi asks.

 

“Your mum is coming?” Jemma gasps. She smacks Fitz’s arm. “You didn’t tell me that!”

 

“She always comes to London premieres,” Fitz defends. “I just assumed you knew. She’ll be at dinner tonight, don’t worry.”

 

Jemma smiles excitedly. “And we’re going to—“

 

“Crown and Anchor, yeah,” Fitz finishes. “Only place we can go in this bloody town without being swarmed.”

 

“Hunter and I were thinking of going to his neighborhood for dinner,” Bobbi says. “Is that alright with you two?”

 

“Of course,” Jemma says, waving her hands around. “You two have fun.”

 

“Great,” Bobbi grins. “His little sister just became legal, and I’m really looking forward to taking her out.”

 

“Hey!” Hunter exclaims from down the hall. “No corrupting my baby sister.”

 

Bobbi rolls her eyes and leans in to whisper to Fitz and Jemma. “He has no idea I caught a boy climbing out of her window over the holidays.”

 

Jemma stifles a laugh and makes her way toward Fitz’s usual room, hauling her bag behind her and kicking it into the bedroom. “Well I’m going to get ready for dinner, then. What time are we meeting her?”

 

“An hour!” Fitz calls back. Jemma makes a noise in the affirmative and shuts the door to unpack and get ready. He mills around in the living room for a bit, double-checking that the kitchen is stocked according to his requests to the management company that takes care of his place while he’s gone. Bobbi and Hunter emerge sometime later and then head out to pop in on Hunter’s family before getting some dinner for themselves.

 

Jemma comes out of the room in a lovely blue dress that has him immediately grasping at her. She giggles and kisses him several times before snaking her arms around his neck and leaning back to look at him.

 

“So, a London premiere,” Jemma says quietly. “We haven’t had one of those in a while.”

 

“Yeah,” Fitz agrees. “I guess our last few have premiered in New York, huh?”

 

“Mhm,” she hums. She hesitates before asking the question that’s been burned in her brain since they got on the plane to come to London. “Will Darcy be joining us tomorrow night?”

 

Fitz blinks in confusion, his hands loosening their grip on her hips. “Wait, what?”

 

For the past several years, Fitz has brought Darcy Lewis, a musician based in London, to all of their London premieres. The two of them had never seriously dated, but had enjoyed each other’s company whenever they were both in the same spot—particularly in London.

 

“Well, you always bring Darcy to London events,” she says, doing her best to keep the jealous tinge out of her voice.

 

“Sure, but that was before you and me,” he replies, stepping away from her. A muscle in his jaw twitches and Jemma rushes to correct the situation.

 

“I just thought that maybe—I mean, we haven’t talked about whether we were attending the premiere _together_ ,” she tries to explain. Fitz furrows his brow, opening his mouth to respond before promptly snapping it shut. Some sort of realization dawns on his features and Jemma just _knows_ she isn’t going to like whatever he’s going to say next.

 

“Look, Jemma, if you don’t want to make a public appearance together than that’s fine, but I’m not going to take someone else,” Fitz says firmly. She sees the skin of his neck flushing in annoyance and she quickly steps back into his space.

 

“No, Fitz, that’s not it!” she says. “Of course I want to go with you. I want us to go together, not just as friends like we usually do. It’s just—I was trying to say that we haven’t talked about it. Talked about us, and what we actually _are_ to each other.”

 

“Well, what do you want to be?” Fitz asks, voice low. “The ball is in your court, Jemma. I’ve wanted this for a long time. All of it.”

 

“So have I,” she murmurs. He shoots her an incredulous look and she brushes it off. “Maybe not as long as you have. Or maybe I did, and I just didn’t know it. But that’s not important. What’s important is that I want this. I want us. As far as I’m concerned, we’re together, and not just a casual thing.”

 

Fitz clears his throat, rubbing one hand on the back of his neck. “I think it’d be a bit tough for us to be casual, huh?”

 

Jemma laughs and nods. “I’d say so.”

 

“So if someone asked you who I was, what would you say?” Fitz asks shyly. Jemma grins, eyes twinkling as she grabs onto his hands.

 

“Well, first I would be very surprised that someone doesn’t know who Leo Fitz is and I would have to explain your full filmography,” she teases. He rolls his eyes fondly and she continues. “And then I would tell them that Leo Fitz is my best friend and my boyfriend.”

 

“Boyfriend, huh?” he echoes, looking altogether too pleased with himself. She leans up to place one hand on his cheek, guiding his face down to press her lips to his.

 

“Boyfriend,” she confirms. “Sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

 

“Sounds like the best,” he mumbles against her mouth. “Jemma Simmons is my girlfriend.”

 

“That sounds even better,” she whispers. She kisses him harder this time, slowly pushing him back toward the couch. He sits easily, pulling her into his lap as she swings one leg over his. For several long minutes, the only sound in the flat is their breathy moans and gasps until Fitz’s phone starts ringing.

 

“Shit,” he curses. “My mum, probably. What time is it?”

 

“Oh!” Jemma exclaims, clambering off of him. “We only have fifteen minutes to get there. Go change!”

 

Jemma grabs his phone to answer it for him, watching him walk into the bedroom with a wide smile on her face. “Hello?”

 

“Jemma?” Phil asks. “Did I call the wrong one of you again? I’m always doing that.”

 

Jemma laughs. “No, Phil, you called Fitz’s phone. He’s getting ready for dinner with his mum. Can I help you?”

 

“Nope,” Phil says. “I was just calling to let him, and both of you, really, know that Fury has a copy of the emails now. He’s going to let me know before he does anything with them, and I’ll keep you in the loop.”

 

She feels her muscles relax and she shifts in her heels. “Thank you, Phil. I think he’s the right person for this.”

 

“So do I,” Phil agrees. “Enjoy dinner with Brenda and tell her Melinda and I say hi.”

 

“Will do!” Jemma chirps. She hangs up as Fitz emerges in a freshly pressed grey shirt and takes his arm, slipping his phone into his pocket. “That was Phil. Fury has the emails and is deciding what to do about it.”

 

Fitz’s arm twitches beneath her fingers and she slides her hand down to grasp his. “Alright,” he says shortly.

 

“Fitz…”

 

He turns to lock the door to the flat and sighs. “I’m sorry. I’m glad he has them. I’m with you on this, I promise.”

 

When he turns back around, she catches him with another kiss. “Thank you, Fitz.”

 

“We always stick together,” he shrugs. “It’s your decision and I’m supporting it.”

 

“I know it’s not easy for you. And I appreciate it,” she tells him as they get in the elevator.

 

He puts his hands in his pockets with a little shrug of his shoulders. “You’re what’s most important.”

 

She leans against the wall of the elevator, turning her head to gaze at him. “Fitz, I—“

 

Something about her tone makes him turn to look at her. She freezes when his eyes meet hers. A long beat of silence stretches between them, interrupted by the beeping of the elevator as it passes each floor.

 

“You what?”

 

“I…adore you,” she says. “I really, really adore you.”

 

A brief flicker of disappointment crosses his features, but it’s gone so quickly that Jemma thinks she may have imagined it. He bends down to kiss her forehead as he leads her out of the elevator.

 

“I adore you, too,” he tells her. Her stomach twists uncomfortably with her own disappointment. She knows it’s going to be up to her to tell him, to make that last emotional move, but for some reason she can’t get the words out.

 

She does adore him; of course she does, she always has. Adoration doesn’t begin to cover it, though. Even the word love doesn’t feel like enough but it’s the best tool she has at her disposal and she just wants to use it. She just wants to blurt it out so that he _knows._

 

The moment passes, and he opens the door of the town car to let her slide into the backseat. He’s already moved on, rambling about their press call tomorrow morning and whether or not he has to dress up for it. They fall into easy conversation all the way to the restaurant.

 

***

 

Brenda is thrilled to see them both, even having seen them just a month or so prior. She’s already seated when they get there, and Fitz has to shush her rather loudly to keep her from making a spectacle.

 

“Mum, please,” Fitz hisses. “This is one of the few places we don’t have any trouble.”

 

Brenda looks properly abashed and leans over to kiss Jemma’s cheek. “Sorry, darlings. I just get a bit excited.”

 

“I know you do,” Fitz says fondly. He waves over the waiter. “Is a bottle of red good for everyone?”

 

“Look at him,” Brenda chuckles, leaning in to Jemma. “Acting like such a fancy grown-up.”

 

“Mum,” Fitz whines petulantly. “C’mon, we just got here and you’re already making fun of me.”

 

Brenda laughs and pats his hand. “Remember what I used to tell you about the kids making fun of you? They only did it cause they were jealous.”

 

“Aw, mum,” Fitz teases. “There’s no need to be jealous of me.”

 

He orders the wine and a few appetizers, excited to turn back to his conversation with his two favorite people. Jemma and Brenda quickly get swept up into a conversation about what dress she’ll be wearing to the premiere and Fitz just sits back and watches them.

 

“So, will you be bringing Darcy tomorrow night?” Brenda asks him suddenly. Fitz’s jaw drops and Jemma hides a laugh behind her hand.

 

“No!” he exclaims in annoyance. “Of course I’m not bringing Darcy, I’m going with Jemma!”

 

Brenda holds up her hands in surrender. “I’ve apparently touched a nerve.”

 

“We just went over this,” Jemma says by way of explanation. “He’s a bit sensitive about it.”

 

He glares at her and crosses his arms. “I don’t know why everyone thinks I’d want to take someone else when I’ve got a lovely girlfriend who also happens to be in the bloody movie.”

 

Brenda drops her fork, jaw dropping open. “Girlfriend?”

 

Fitz and Jemma look at each other, unable to hold back their beaming smiles. His hand finds her knee beneath the table and he gives it a little squeeze. “Yeah,” he confirms proudly. “It’s official.”

 

“Then why the hell are we drinking red wine?!” Brenda practically shouts. “We should be…oh, what do they call it these days? Popping bottles?”

 

Jemma throws her head back in a loud laugh as Fitz groans. “Mum, don’t ever say that again. But yeah sure, let’s get some champagne.”

 

They order a bottle with their meals and as soon as it’s poured, Brenda raises her flute in a toast. “I’m so happy for both of you. You’ve grown so much since Chemistry and it’s just been…well, it’s been a blessing to be a part of. I always knew you two would get it together eventually but to be quite honest, I wasn’t sure I’d live to see the day.”

 

Fitz scoffs and Jemma giggles, clinking her glass against Brenda’s. “Thank you. Really, it means a lot.”

 

“To you,” Brenda says seriously. Fitz joins in on the clinking before taking a long sip of his drink. He meets Jemma’s eyes over the brim of his glass and she winks at him, sending a little surge of excitement through him.

 

It immediately fizzles when the host appears out of nowhere, looking incredibly nervous.

 

“Miss Simmons? You have visitors,” the young woman says. Jemma’s brow furrows and she looks to Fitz.

 

“Do you think Hunter and Bobbi decided to stop by?”

 

Fitz shakes his head. “I got a text from Hunter not too long ago, they were taking his sister to a pub.”

 

Brenda stiffens as her eyes fall on something—or rather, someone—over Jemma’s shoulder. Jemma turns just in time to see her mother before she hears her voice.

 

“So, you come to London without even telling your parents?” Christine Simmons asks coldly. Jemma’s father, Richard, stands beside her with a hand on his wife’s back. “I had to track you down to this place.”

 

Jemma sucks in a sharp breath and stands to face her parents. “You didn’t have to track me anywhere. In fact, one might even assume that not being invited somewhere means that they’re not welcome. If we’re going to have this conversation in public, I’d prefer to have it in the lobby.”

 

Jemma turns sharply on her heel and stalks toward the lobby of the restaurant. Her parents trail after her and Fitz swallows hard before standing as well, tossing his napkin onto his plate.

 

“Leo—“ his mum starts.

 

“It’ll be fine,” he says. He picks up his glass and chugs the rest of it, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “We’ll just deal with them and go back to enjoying our meal.”

 

Brenda looks unconvinced, but nods and watches him go. He enters the lobby and sees Jemma standing toe-to-toe with her parents, arms crossed defiantly over her chest.

 

He takes his place beside Jemma. “Mr. and Mrs. Simmons. We didn’t expect you here.”

 

Richard looks over at him dispassionately. “I’m sure you didn’t. You’ve wanted her away from us since the first day you met her.”

 

Fitz furrows his brow. “Sir, that’s not—“

 

“Don’t call him sir,” Jemma snaps at him. Fitz’s eyes widen in surprise and he rests a comforting hand on her shoulder. She exhales slowly and raises her eyes to meet her mother’s. “You shouldn’t be here. We were trying to enjoy a pleasant meal with Brenda.”

 

Christine smiles icily. “Yes, I did see all that food on your table. It seems you’re quite determined to make yourself entirely unmarketable.”

 

Jemma grits her teeth and fights the tightness growing in her throat. “I’ll eat whatever I please, mother.”

 

“Apparently,” Richard mumbles derisively under his breath. Fitz straightens up, shooting an angry glare at Jemma’s father.

 

“You’ve no right to come here and talk to her like this,” Fitz says firmly. “We’re both adults now. If she wanted to see you, she’d have called you. She didn’t.”

 

“I’m not yours,” Jemma spits at them. “I’m not your puppet and I never was. There’s a reason I haven’t tried to contact you in two years and we all know exactly what it is.”

 

“You’ve let these people poison you,” Christine says, gesturing at Fitz. “We were so close, Jemma. You were the most important thing in the world to me, and then these people filled your head with these horrible ideas. Everything I’ve done has always been for you. I gave up the best years of my life so that you could achieve your dreams—“

 

Jemma laughs coldly. “Mother, please. I never _wanted_ any of this.”

 

“Of course you did,” Richard snaps. “What child doesn’t want to be a star someday?”

 

“I just wanted to perform,” Jemma says quietly as tears begin to burn at her eyes. “I just wanted to do what I loved. I wanted my parents to be proud of me, even if I was just playing a sheep in a school play. But that was never enough for you. _I_ was never enough for you.”

 

Fitz’s thumb sweeps across her shoulder in a comforting gesture and she reaches up to cover his hand with hers.

 

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Christine says harshly. “You have become incredibly ungrateful. I don’t recognize you anymore, and not just because you’ve gone up three sizes.”

 

“Enough!” a sharp voice interrupts. Brenda storms toward them with an expression that Fitz is quite familiar with. It’s the same look she gave him whenever he’d done something particularly bad, and it usually signaled the beginning of a very long grounding.

 

“You two have some nerve,” Brenda growls. “You show up here without your daughter’s consent or knowledge, and for what? To attack her? To attempt to humiliate her?”

 

“This is between us and our daughter,” Christine responds. “It’s a family matter and it’s got nothing to do with you or your son.”

 

“No,” Brenda snaps. “I have watched for _years_ as you tore this beautiful child apart. You have used her and manipulated her and twisted her into whatever you wanted her to be. All you’ve ever done is take from her. You took away her childhood and you took away her money and her freedom and all of the things that she had earned _for herself.”_

 

Christine opens her mouth to respond but Brenda raises a threatening hand and presses forward.

 

“I don’t know how, but your daughter has managed to grow into a kind, generous, amazing young woman. She did that on her own. Every thing that Jemma has, she has earned for herself. You don’t get to take any credit for her. She didn’t win Oscars and millions of dollars _because of_ you—she did _in spite of_ you. All of the pain and criticism and self-loathing that you heaped on her, and somehow it just made her lovely. I’ve lost a child before.”

 

Brenda’s voice cracks on the words and Jemma moves away from Fitz to grab onto Brenda’s arm.

 

“Brenda, please, you don’t have to—“

 

Brenda shakes her head and stares at Christine. “I know what it’s like to lose a child, but you did _not_ lose Jemma. She wasn’t taken from you. You pushed her and pushed her and when she finally snapped, you couldn’t fathom why on earth she’d want nothing to do with you.”

 

“You’ve let this boy and his family ruin you,” Christine says, turning away from Brenda. “I’ve seen all the papers, all of these rumors about the two of you being _in love,_ as though you’re anything to him other than free publicity. He grabbed onto you as early as he could and took a free ride.”

 

“Shut up,” Jemma spits. She steps as close as she can to her mother, her face inches from Christine’s. “If it weren’t for Fitz and Brenda and Penny, I never would have been happy. I wouldn’t have known what _love_ felt like. I thought that—for so long, I thought that being someone’s child meant that you were their property. Their product to buy and sell. You starved me and berated me. You made me feel like I would never, _ever_ be enough. Even after I won an Oscar at eighteen years old—you still had something bad to say.”

 

“Because you took off running onto the stage to—“

 

“To be with Fitz,” Jemma finishes, cutting her father off. “I’ve chosen where I want to be in my life. I didn’t have the power to do that, back then. I didn’t have the power to choose who I would allow into my life and who I would exclude. But after what you did—“

 

“What we did,” Richard says firmly, “was for your own good, Jemma.”

 

“You knew he was married and you didn’t tell me!” Jemma shrieks. Fitz steps back slightly and Brenda looks around the mostly-empty lobby, searching for cell phone cameras. “You weren’t worried about me and how I would feel. You saw an opportunity to make me a creature of pity and you grabbed onto it.”

 

“You received more calls for auditions after that than you ever had!” Christine attempts to defend.

 

“My parents, _my own parents_ , broke my heart,” Jemma says. A tear falls down her cheek and she brushes it away angrily. “You went behind my back and leaked the information about Will and his wife with absolutely no warning. And I nearly _died_ just a few months ago and _where the hell were you?!”_

 

Her voice rises even higher.

 

“So what the hell do you want, huh?” Jemma says. “What do you want from me? Do you need money? Did you buy another house you can’t afford?”

 

“Why would you think we wanted anything?” Christine asks, placing a hand over her heart.

 

“You need to calm down,” Richard tells Jemma sternly. “You are causing a scene and humiliating yourself.”

 

Jemma laughs bitterly. “There’s no reason for you to come to me unless you want something so just spit it out, okay? Just tell me what it is so I can give it to you and we can all go back to pretending the other doesn’t exist.”

 

Her parents exchange a heavy look and Jemma taps her foot impatiently.

 

“Out with it,” she demands. “My meal is getting cold.”

 

“Your mother was approached with a proposition,” Richard says carefully. “A renowned producer had the brilliant idea that your story—our story—deserves to be told.”

 

Jemma stumbles back in shock. “Are you asking me for my life rights?”

 

“I would have a producer and writer credit,” Christine jumps in. “The story will be told exactly how it happened.”

 

“Get out,” Jemma growls. “Get the hell out of here.”

 

“Jemma, don’t be unreasonable,” Richard attempts. He reaches out for her and she slaps his hand away forcefully just as Fitz moves to put himself in front of Jemma, shielding her from her parents. She shoots him a look and Fitz retreats.

 

“I will not allow you to spread your twisted perception of my childhood to other people,” Jemma says. “You have absolutely no right to make _any_ kind of statements about me or my life.”

 

“We’re your parents,” Christine reminds her. “Your life story is our life story.”

 

“You’ll be hearing from my lawyers,” Jemma says, squaring her shoulders. “Any books, screenplays, television shows—any kind of media, at all—about my life story will be immediately smashed by a cease and desist and if you still insist on creating a fiction out of my childhood, I will sue you for defamation.”

 

She brushes past them back into the restaurant, head held high. Brenda immediately takes off after her, but Fitz lingers for a long moment, staring at Jemma’s parents.

 

“You never deserved her,” he says simply, slipping his hands into his pockets. “I remember watching you take food away from her on set. I watched you put her in those clothes she was uncomfortable in. I saw you throw her at men twice her age because you thought it’d get her a role. I watched all of that happen because I’ve been beside your daughter the whole damn time. Back then, I was…I was too afraid of you to do anything about it.”

 

Richard narrows his eyes. “You ought to remain afraid of us, son.”

 

“Don’t call me son,” Fitz says, voice quiet but fierce. “The thing is, Richard…I’m only afraid of one thing, and that’s the people I love getting hurt. Any fear that I used to have about the two of you, that’s long gone now. My only fear is that you two might sink your claws back into an amazing woman and turn her inside out again. I won’t ever let that happen. I won’t watch her go through it again, and you should know that I have every possible resource to stop you from so much as breathing in her general direction.”

 

Christine moves her hands to her hips and scoffs. “Are you threatening us? She’s our daughter, you can’t—“

 

“Mrs. Simmons, I’m not threatening you,” Fitz clarifies. “I’m promising you that if you do _anything_ to hurt her, you will have nothing left. So if I were you, I would just keep on accepting those deposits she still makes into your bank account for god knows what reason and keep your mouths shut.”

 

He turns on his heel and stalks back toward the dining room, heart pounding wildly in his chest.

 

“She needs us,” Richard calls after Fitz. “You’ll see.”

 

“She doesn’t need you,” Fitz says over his shoulder. “She never did.”

 

He waits until he’s sure that they can’t see him anymore before covering his face briefly, scrubbing at his whole face. Then he returns to the table, finding Jemma and his mum speaking to one another in hushed tones.

 

“Jemma,” he says softly. “I’m so sorry, love.”

 

Her eyes are a bit red, but the ends of her lips quirk up in a little smile. “Love, huh? Are we back to the Pet Name Debate?”

 

He rolls his eyes and grabs her hand, kissing her knuckles. Brenda watches with a soft expression.

 

“Shall we finish up?” Brenda suggests. “You two need to get some rest. You must be jetlagged and you have press tomorrow.”

 

Jemma smiles a bit crookedly and pulls her hand away from Fitz to grab her fork. She takes a large bite of her food and hums happily. “This is fantastic.”

 

A waiter walks by and Jemma stops him with a gentle hand.

 

“Excuse me, could I get a large dish of melted butter?” Jemma asks sweetly. “Salted, if you have it.”

 

“Absolutely, Miss Simmons,” the waiter stutters, dashing off toward the kitchen. Fitz barks out a laugh and Brenda mockingly applauds.

 

“So,” Jemma says brightly, a renewed and rebellious little spark in her eyes. “I have my eye on the triple fudge cake with ice cream for dessert.”

 

“That sounds lovely, darling,” Brenda grins. “Absolutely lovely.”

 

Despite Jemma’s convincingly unaffected façade, Fitz knows better. There’s no way that this run-in with her parents hasn’t hurt her deeply, and so he keeps his hand on her leg throughout the remainder of their meal. When she finishes off nearly an entire bottle of wine by herself, he gently slides her glass away from her hand with a cautious look.

 

“Thank you,” she whispers softly. “I—probably shouldn’t.”

 

Fitz nods, squeezing her thigh supportively. “I’ll hold your hair back, but we do have press tomorrow.”

 

She crinkles her nose at him, that sweet little expression that somehow manages to always communicate so much, and he gives her a little wink in return.

 

“Oh, to be young and in love,” Brenda sighs. “You two hold on tight to each other, you hear me?”

 

Jemma smiles broadly and nods. “I’ve no intention of letting go.”

 

“Neither do I,” Fitz agrees, scooting his chair closer to hers so he can put one arm over her shoulders. She leans against him with a contented little sigh.

 

Jemma inhales deeply, letting the familiar scent of his cologne calm the last of her frayed nerves. Christine and Richard Simmons have always had a knack for making her feel incredibly small, but she feels surprisingly strong.

 

She can’t stop thinking about it, even when they’ve dropped Brenda at her hotel and gone back to Fitz’s flat. He sleeps beside her and she watches his chest rise and fall with slow, steady breaths.

 

_Jemma sits with her back against the wall of her trailer, hidden from view. She drops her face into her hands and lets out a strangled sob._

_She is hungry and exhausted. Today’s weight check had shown a two-pound increase that had not pleased her mother in the slightest. And the day had simply gotten worse from there. Christine had stopped a scene in the middle of a take to yank Jemma off of the set._

_“You need to pull it together!” Christine had shouted at her. “How hard is it to get one line right? Are you an idiot, Jemma? Are you stupid?”_

_She’d whimpered back denials and apologies, and it had taken ten more takes before she could get the line right._

_“Jemma?” Fitz’s voice sounds from around the corner. His footsteps stop as he sees her._

_She looks up with a loud sniff, wiping at her face and looking anywhere but at him. “Go away, Fitz.”_

_He doesn’t listen. He walks closer and sits beside her._

_“I hate to say this,” Fitz says softly. “But your mum’s a real bitch.”_

_Jemma barks out a watery laugh._

_“I know you’re not supposed to say that about someone’s mum,” Fitz chuckles. “But your mum is just…a piece of work.”_

_Jemma nods. “She is, isn’t she?”_

_“Are you alright?”_

_“Has anyone ever made you feel…small?” Jemma asks after a long beat. Fitz screws up his face in thought._

_“I suppose. Once or twice.”_

_“My mum always makes me feel like I’m two inches tall,” Jemma explains, fiddling with her fingers. “It feels like she can just crush me at any second. And then she does, and I have to peel myself off of the ground and do it all again, like nothing happened.”_

_The director’s assistant calls out for both of them, and Fitz stands, wiping his hands on his jeans and reaching out to help her up._

_“You’re not small,” he says before they turn the corner. She stops and stares up at him. “You’re…a really good person, and it sucks to see you like this. Walk tall, Simmons. You’re worth more than anything she could ever say about you.”_

_Then he turns and walks quickly back toward set. She watches him go, a smile playing at her lips. Then she straightens and dashes after him._

Jemma wrenches her thoughts back into the present, snuggling deeper into the pillows. She needs him to know, right this instant, that she loves him. That she has for a long, long time. She runs a thumb over his cheekbone and kisses his bottom lip.

 

“Fitz,” she whispers.

 

“Hngh,” he grunts in response. She smiles and presses closer.

 

“Fitz, wake up.”

 

“Why?” he mumbles. “Wha’s going on?”

 

He blinks his eyes open, looking bleary and confused.

 

“Are you okay?” he asks worriedly, trying to gain his bearings. “Hunter and Bobbi?”

 

“Everyone is fine,” she says softly. “I’m fine. I just needed to tell you something.”

 

He leans up on one elbow, moving her hair out of her face to get a better look at her. “And it couldn’t wait until the morning?”

 

“No,” she breathes. “It can’t wait a second longer.”

 

He pouts, puzzled, and she takes a deep breath. It’s been ages since she really said this to anyone, and she’s suddenly quite sure that she’d never meant it the way that she means it now.

 

“I love you, Fitz,” Jemma says. “I love you _so much_ and I can’t imagine my life without you.”

 

He stares at her, his entire face going slack with surprise.

 

“I don’t think I ever realized what it meant,” Jemma tells him seriously. “I thought it was perfectly normal to never want to be without your best friend, to want to share every good and bad moment with them. I thought that was just being a friend, but…it’s always been so much more than that between us, hasn’t it?”

 

“Yeah,” he says, voice raspy with sleep. “Yeah, it has, Jemma.”

 

“So it couldn’t wait a second longer,” she explains, a slow smile spreading over her lips. “Because I’ve already waited almost nine years and that’s just too long.”

 

“I love you,” he breathes. She shivers at the sound. “I’m so in love with you.”

 

“Then do something about it,” she teases, jerking her chin up toward him. He laughs and rolls over, holding his weight up on his elbows on either side of her face. Her legs part to accommodate him and she wraps her hands around his neck. He bends down to kiss her deeply, nipping at her bottom lip and immediately reaching up underneath her camisole.

 

She sighs into his mouth, spurning him forward as his hand cups her breast. Her hips buck up against him on their own accord and he smirks into her mouth before he starts kissing his way across her jaw and down her neck. When he reaches the valley between her breasts, he sits up onto his knees and yanks her into an upright position.

 

She gasps in surprise and he easily pulls off her tank top in a fluid motion, slowly lowering her back down. Jemma flushes under his reverent gaze.

 

“You’ve seen it before,” she reminds him.

 

He shakes his head with a crooked smile. “Would you tell that to a man looking at a Monet painting for the tenth time?”

 

“So I’m a Monet?” she quips. “Because Monet’s are a big mess when you look at them close up.”

 

He shuts her up when his tongue flicks at the peak of her nipple, her back arching to meet him. His free hand snakes up to toy with her other breast and she writhes beneath him. She feels him twitch against her thigh when she releases a throaty moan and decides that it’s her turn.

 

He’s so focused on his task that he doesn’t notice her hand slipping over the waistband of his boxers until she’s already grabbed onto his cock. He freezes, a strangled noise falling from his lips as his forehead collapses against her chest. She begins slowly stroking him, his muscles clenching deliciously over her as he tries to stay in control.

 

“Jemma,” he whimpers. “Jemma, if you don’t stop that, this is going to be over…ah…very quickly.”

 

She giggles and runs her fingertips over him one more time before she pulls her hand out of his boxers. She hooks her fingers in the waistband and begins pulling them down. His head flies up and he stares at her in shock.

 

“Jemma—“

 

“We’ve waited long enough,” she tells him seriously. “I want this. Don’t you?”

 

He studies her, eyes open and vulnerable. She surges forward to kiss him, slipping her tongue into his mouth quickly before sucking his bottom lip between her teeth.

 

“I love you,” she breathes as she pulls back. “Let me show you.”

 

“You were upset tonight, I don’t want—“

 

“Fitz, I’ve thought about this,” she says seriously. “This isn’t some impulsive decision, okay? I promise. Do you trust me?”

 

He nods wordlessly and finishes the job, kicking his boxers off toward the end of the bed. She grins in satisfaction and lies back, lifting her hips so that he can slide her underwear off of her. He tosses them somewhere in the corner and slowly lowers himself over her.

 

When he kisses her again, it’s languid and slow, soft but burning with heat that sends a zing of want through her core. He seems to anticipate her needs, slipping his fingers toward her center and rubbing slowly, varying the pressure as she keens weakly into his mouth.

 

He feels her thighs begin to tighten around him in anticipation of her climax. He drops his mouth back to her breasts, alternating between nipping and sucking at them.

 

“Fitz,” she gasps out, hands diving into his hair to pull him up. She shakes her head and bucks her hips up. “You. Now.”

 

He swallows hard and fumbles for the condom he keeps in his wallet. Jemma snatches it out of his hands and tears through the wrapper with her teeth, sliding it onto him slowly.

 

Until this moment, he never thought that putting a condom on was, in and of itself, arousing. He now knows how wrong that presumption had been. Jemma flips over him, pressing his back into the padded headboard. She straddles him, sinking onto him until he fills her completely. His hands grip her ass and he lets out a small shout at the sudden pleasure of being surrounded by her.

 

She begins moving, rocking slowly back and forth. He tugs her down by the back of the neck to kiss her a bit messily, tongue and teeth brushing against hers as she picks up speed.

 

Everything goes blank. All rational thought disappears completely. All Jemma can focus on is the heat of his hands and the building fire in her gut threatens to consume her completely. He murmurs her name over and over, in between his gasping breaths. His hips jerk up against her, setting her off rhythm and she adjusts immediately to the new speed. One of his hands slips between them to rub her. The combination of his hands and having him inside of her pitches her over the edge much quicker than she would have expected.

 

She tightens around him as her climax throws her over. A sound she’s never made spills from her lips as she arches against him, his face buried in her chest. He follows shortly after, groaning her name as he twitches inside of her.

 

She collapses forward against him, kissing him weakly and running a hand over his sweaty forehead.

 

“Wow,” she breathes. “I mean, I knew it would be good, but…”

 

“But wow,” he agrees, words slurred as he leans forward to rest his forehead on her shoulder. She slowly pushes off of him, rolling to the side and letting him dispose of the used condom. He clambers back into bed as quickly as he can, throwing an arm over her stomach and nuzzling into her neck. He kisses softly at the base of her throat, drawing a happy little moan from her.

 

“We should just quit,” she says sleepily.

 

“What?” he asks, panicked as his head snaps up. She reaches up to run a hand through his hair comfortingly.

 

“We should quit acting,” she mumbles. “We have enough money. We don’t have to do anything other than this, for the rest of forever.”

 

He laughs warmly and peppers her face with kisses. Her eyes flutter shut and he finishes with one long kiss to her lips.

 

“Go to sleep, Jemma.”

 

“Goodnight, Fitz,” she whispers.

 

“’Night.”

 

He’s nearly asleep when he hears the front door of the flat open and shut, Bobbi and Hunter whispering to each other in the dark. He grins into Jemma’s shoulder, incredibly glad that their temporary flatmates decided to stay out late tonight.

 

“I love you,” he sighs into Jemma’s skin. She’s completely asleep and can’t hear him, but for some reason it feels important to say. “This is real.”

 

He’s not completely convinced of that fact until he wakes in the morning to find Jemma’s wide brown eyes studying his features, her fingertips lightly tracing his face. She smiles softly as his eyes open.

 

“Good morning,” she murmurs. “We have to get up soon and get ready for the panel.”

 

“How is this my life?” he mumbles, only half-awake. She giggles and kisses each of his cheeks before reaching his lips.

 

“I was about to ask myself the same thing,” she teases. She slips out of bed and into a robe. “I’m going to get us some tea, back in a minute.”

 

She shuts the bedroom door quietly behind her and leans against it. Her cheeks hurt from how wide her smile stretches. Even running on just a few hours of jet-lagged sleep, she’s never felt more awake. She hears movement in Bobbi and Hunter’s room and dashes toward the kitchen, eager to make some tea and get back in bed with Fitz—her boyfriend—with no interruptions.


	21. Making It Official

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz and Jemma walk the red carpet at the Maveth premiere, officially confirming their relationship. When they come back to L.A., Jemma's parents find a new way to meddle. Fitz worries that all of these roadblocks mean that they're cursed, and asks Jemma to take a big step with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! There's four chapters left after this one. I'm sad to see this fic winding down, but all good things must end. Don't worry, this verse won't be gone for long--I have a planned set of one-shots coming around the bend. 
> 
> Also, I just want to say a huge thank you to everyone who leaves kudos and comments on this fic. It just broke an astounding 600 kudos, and I still can't believe it. A massive thank you to everyone who has read and loved this fic just as much as I have.

The night of the Maveth premiere, Jemma sits in a stretch limousine beside Fitz. Hunter and Bobbi sprawl out on the long seat running perpendicular to them, with Hunter making a copious amount of teasing digs at his companions’ relative opulence.

 

“I’ve been on your new tour bus,” Bobbi reminds him as they pull up to the red carpet. “It’s not exactly a craigslist minivan.”

 

“That was the label,” he insists. “I’d have been perfectly happy—“

 

“I happen to know that you are most definitely the one who requested the large bathroom with a full shower,” Bobbi shoots back, looking rather pleased with herself. Hunter drops his jaw indignantly before recognition dawns on his features.

 

“Damn it, Izzy,” he growls under his breath. “She’s always selling me out.”

 

“She likes me better,” Bobbi says smugly, leaning forward to kiss his cheek quickly. Their teasing banter is a welcome distraction, quelling the butterflies rising up in Jemma’s stomach.

 

It’s their first public appearance as _An Actual Couple_ and it feels incredibly significant. She’s attended so many events with Fitz that she can’t even count them all, but this one—this one, single premiere—is the one that will truly change everything. For her entire adult life, she’s considered the Chemistry premiere as the moment where her life truly and honestly changed. It wasn’t until that moment that the immensity of the work she’d done for months really hit her.

 

But this red carpet, this appearance, this night with Fitz on her arm…this is the one that is _really_ going to change her life forever. There’s no running from that or hiding from it, and she’s not sure that she would want to. As much as she wants to live in their private little bubble forever, it’s not as though the entire world hasn’t waited eight years for this very moment. After all it’s not like they haven’t been reported as a couple a hundred times before.

 

But this time, it will be true. Even though she’s nervous, the thought bolsters her courage and she shimmies out of the door when the driver opens it.

 

She is immediately blinded by lights, and she has no doubt that the media got ahold of some account of her fight with her parents the previous night. Fitz scrambles out behind her, as graceless in his landing as usual. Climbing out of limousines has never gotten any easier for him, and it’s one of his traits that she finds most endearing after eight years of superstardom.

 

“JEMMA! OVER HERE!”

 

“FITZ! JEMMA!”

 

Bobbi and Hunter exit the car next, and several of the cameras and reporters turn their attention to the supermodel and her beau. Fitz wraps an easy arm around Jemma’s waist, leaning down to murmur in her ear.

 

“Are you sure we’re ready for this?”

 

She turns to him with a secret little smile. They’ve asked each other this question many times over the years, and the answer is always the same.

 

“I sure hope so,” she quips back. He smiles down at her and slides his arm away from her waist to grasp her hand. She grins back up at him, letting the cameras go completely mad around them.

 

They make their way down the carpet like this, whispering and holding hands despite their obvious and incredibly loud audience. Bobbi and Hunter trail behind, cracking up several interviewers with their banter and Hunter’s obvious discomfort on camera.

 

“Jemma! Fitz! Can I get a quick interview?” a reporter asks excitedly. They exchange a look and Jemma squares her shoulders, tugging Fitz toward the eager young woman. She practically buzzes with anticipation as they approach and Jemma already likes her. She’s fresh-faced and has kind eyes, which is the sort of thing that May has always told her doesn’t mean a reporter is skilled or honest. Regardless, Jemma chooses to believe these things anyway.

 

“I’m Iris West with the New York Times. How are you feeling about tonight’s premiere?” the reporter asks.

 

“I’m feeling pretty great,” Fitz starts. Jemma turns to stare at him in surprise, and the reporter seems to notice.

 

“Jemma seems surprised to hear that,” the reporter teases. Jemma laughs and nods in agreement.

 

“Oh I really am. He never starts these things off, it’s always on me.”

 

“I like to let you warm them up first,” he jokes. “Let them believe I’m talented and beautiful by association.”

 

Jemma blushes and looks away briefly before rolling her eyes fondly. “I promise you, he’s not this modest at home. But yes, we’re really looking forward to seeing the finished product. We worked incredibly hard on this film and I think it’s a beautiful story.”

 

Fitz focuses in on the content of the interview, scratching behind his ear as he nods in agreement. “Yeah, definitely. We spent _grueling_ hours in the desert filming, and as everyone knows, Jemma nearly died for this movie. We took is seriously. We didn’t want this to be some kind of cheap thrills blockbuster. It’s really a love story at it’s core, and—“

 

“—and the fantastical elements are really just a setting,” Jemma carries on. “They’re a new backdrop to display these very human emotions that we all feel for one another. There were so many scenes I could hardly make it through because he kills me with those puppy dog eyes.”

 

Fitz chuckles self-deprecatingly, shaking his head and shooting a look to Iris. “She really did have a hard time. She kept crying in scenes she wasn’t meant to be crying in.”

 

“I have to ask,” Iris begins wearily. “And I know you must be _so_ tired of this question, but did you come here tonight as friends, or as an actual date?”

 

He reaches out to take her hand, chewing on his lip as he waits for her response. Despite starting the interview on her behalf, it’s obvious that he’s waiting for her to take the lead on this question.

 

“Actually,” Jemma begins, a teasing smile on her features. “After so many years of pretending to be in love, we figured we might as well give the real thing a try.”

 

The reporter splutters, face lighting up in confusion and sheer joy. Jemma is pretty sure that this interview is about to skyrocket the young woman’s career. Fitz immediately jumps in as Iris attempts to recover.

 

“She really knows how to knock me down a peg,” Fitz retorts. Jemma glances up at him and makes the rather impulsive choice to kiss him soundly on the lips, holding steady against him for several long moments before pulling away. He looks about as gobsmacked as Iris does, and the raging noise around them only builds, making it harder to hear their interviewer and even more difficult to answer her questions.

 

“So I need to make sure I’m hearing this right—are you confirming an actual FitzSimmons romantic relationship?” Iris asks slowly. Jemma and Fitz nod in tandem.

 

“We are,” Jemma says happily. “Right?”

 

“Right,” Fitz confirms. “It’s been…what, about three months now? Four months?”

 

Jemma shrugs. “Give or take, yeah. You know, when you’ve been best friends and partners for so long, you’ve really got to consider every angle.”

 

“And by that she means she resigned herself to this fate,” Hunter pipes up, appearing between them. Jemma gasps and turns to smack him.

 

“Hunter, you moppet!”

 

Fitz throws back his head in a laugh and Bobbi throws an arm around Jemma. “So I see you made the big announcement.”

 

Jemma turns to Iris apologetically. “Oh, I am so sorry. It seems my friends aren’t familiar with interview etiquette.”

 

“Don’t worry,” Iris beams. “I’ve got everything I need.”

 

Jemma smiles back. “Well, thank you so much.”

 

“No, thank _you,_ ” the reporter gushes. She gestures to her photographers. “Can we get a few photos?”

 

“Definitely,” Hunter says, moving to stand behind Jemma in an awkward prom pose. Fitz huffs and shoves him away. “Ah, I see, she meant _you two.”_

Bobbi laughs and tugs him off to the side, allowing Jemma and Fitz to pose for a few photos. Jemma slips a hand up his lapel, curling her fingers into the back of his hair. He looks down at her with a raised eyebrow.

 

“So, you’re one of those,” he says through his awkward smile. He’s never been good with getting his photograph taken. She looks up at him with a furrowed brow, pouting in confusion.

 

“How do you mean?”

 

He rolls his eyes, flashing her that crooked smile of his that always makes her stomach do flip flops. “ _Apparently_ you’re a fan of PDA.”

 

“I am not—“

 

And then he swoops down, dipping her backward in a searing kiss that has the reporters and fans screaming. The flashes behind her eyelids nearly blind her, so she grips tightly onto him until he places her upright once again.

 

“That was—“

 

“You’re not the only one who can be spontaneous,” he reminds her cheekily. “That’ll teach you about kissing me during an interview.”

 

“If this is supposed to be a cautionary tale, you’re failing,” Jemma teases, allowing him to lead the way down the carpet. She waves at a few cameras, sure that her lipstick must be slightly smudged from his little spectacle.

 

Hunter claps him on the back proudly, beaming like the Cheshire Cat. “You put on quite the show out there. Now I see why they pay you the big bucks.”

 

“Nah,” Fitz nods into the entrance of the theater. “But you’re about to see why they do.”

 

Jemma squeezes his hand as she detaches from him to make her way toward the theater’s bar. The patrons nearby all make room for her and Bobbi follows after her, laughing lightly at the treatment.

 

“Fitz is cocky tonight,” Bobbi points out after they’ve ordered their drinks, as well as a pair of beers for Fitz and Hunter. “I mean, he’s _always_ a little cocky but—“

 

Bobbi’s repeated use of the word _cock_ in relation to Fitz has Jemma immediately blushing, flashes of last night temporarily distracting her. Bobbi watches her carefully, ever observant.

 

“You guys totally did it!” Bobbi exclaims. Jemma shushes her loudly, slapping her friend on the arm.

 

“Bobbi!”

 

“Oh my god. How was it?” Bobbi asks more quietly, leaning in excitedly. “Was it totally amazing? Or…oh god. Was it awful?”

 

Jemma laughs delightedly, shaking her curls out of her face and taking a long sip of her drink. It’s a rarity that Jemma is the one to keep Bobbi on the edge of _her_ seat.

 

“It was…beyond amazing,” Jemma confides, giddy with the excitement of the premiere and riding on the high of finality of going public with her and Fitz’s new relationship.

 

“Well, I should hope so,” Bobbi laughs. “You two have had what, like…fifty dry runs?”

 

“In front of audiences!” Jemma exclaims indignantly. “With cameras! Not exactly the most romantic thing.”

 

“Not to mention the Dick Holster,” Bobbi points out. Jemma snorts and elbows her.

 

“You know better than to talk about the Dick Holster,” Jemma chides. “He gets sensitive about that…thing…”

 

By the time they reach Fitz and Hunter, they’re both falling over themselves laughing. Their respective boyfriends don’t seem to think much of it, accustomed to their antics. The four of them make their way inside and take their seats, the prime spots in the house.

 

The movie begins, opening on Jemma’s scientist character being sucked into a rock. The story moves from there—the scientist’s fight for survival on a barren planet, paralleling her engineer boyfriend’s desperate search for the way to bring her back.

 

About halfway through the film, the scene cuts to a shot of Fitz—the engineer-sleeping, tossing and turning in bed. The camera swoops in suddenly, so close that his face becomes completely unfocused, flashing into a glowing scene with hazy edges. Jemma stands at the cargo hold of a plane, looking backward as the wind whips her face. She looks sickly and tired, and the real Jemma immediately tenses in her seat between Fitz and Bobbi.

 

Both of them reach out to grasp at her legs in support. Through the fabric of her dress, their warmth grounds her to the present even as her heart speeds up. Faced with the scene she’d nearly die trying to film, Jemma’s anxiety bubbles up in her chest, constricting her heart. Fitz immediately senses her discomfort.

 

Fitz leans in close, whispering in her ear. “I really thought they cut the scene. I am so sorry, Jemma. If you want to go.”

 

She shakes her head and shuts her eyes. “No, no. I’m fine. I can do this.”

 

“NO!” Fitz shouts on the screen, voice completely raw. “NOOOOOO!”

 

Jemma flinches rather violently, and Fitz’s arm comes up to settle on her shoulder. She tucks her face into his neck, inhaling deep breaths of his aftershave and keeping her eyes screwed shut tightly. When the scene is over, he taps her gently on the shoulder and she slowly pulls back to put her attention back on the screen. By the end of the film, she feels incredibly proud of the work that they did. The reunion music swells over the credits, a shot of Fitz and Jemma kissing in the exploded rubble of the Monolith fading out of the background.

 

“Fitz, you absolute beauty!” Hunter exclaims loudly over the music. Half of the audience hears him, a smattering of laughter immediately following his little spectacle. “You were brilliant!”

 

Jemma clears her throat pointedly. “Did you think anyone else was good in it?”

 

“Ooh, yes! That British guy who played the mercenary was pretty great. Wait, is he here? I’d love to meet him.”

 

Jemma huffs and glares at him, bringing a grin to his face.

 

“Aw, c’mon, Jemma. You know you’re fantastic. Great work,” he smiles, ruffling her hair lightly. She smacks his hand away and stands, plucking her clutch off of the theater seat.

 

“We should get a head start on the after party,” Jemma suggests. “I want to put on some pants first.”

 

Bobbi stands too, gesturing at her short dress. “I feel ya, sestra. Let’s go.”

 

“Sestra?” Hunter echoes. “What the hell is that?”

 

“What?” Bobbi asks defensively. “I’ve been watching a lot of Orphan Black.”

 

They make their way to the limo, Bobbi and Jemma awkwardly scrambling out of their dresses and into a pair of color-coordinated silky blouses. Fitz stares between them, head whipping back and forth.

 

“Did you two plan that?” he asks.

 

“Of course we did,” Bobbi chirps.

 

“Aren’t you supposed to be matching with us?” Fitz points out, gesturing between himself and Hunter.

 

“To be fair, you two aren’t always the easiest to coordinate with,” Jemma points out gently. “We can never be sure if you’re going to show up in some strangely colored shirts or weird patterns…”

 

Hunter and Fitz exchange a disbelieving look, but then Hunter sighs in resignation. “Alright, that seems fair. Those t-shirts we wore to the Vanity Fair party probably didn’t help.”

 

“I liked those,” Fitz pouts. “I thought we looked cool.”

 

“You didn’t take your sunglasses off on the red carpet,” Jemma reminds him, patting his arm softly. “It was a bit unsettling.”

 

The limo stops at their destination, some club or other not far from the theater, and the conversation ends there as they all prepare themselves to take to another red carpet. Hunter rolls his head back, banging it against the seat a few times.

 

“How do you people do this all the time?” he groans. “It’s so _annoying._ I’m tired. I don’t want to smile anymore. _”_

Bobbi snorts and scratches lightly at his cheek. “It’s exhausting, isn’t it? Now will you finally stop making fun of me when I come home from a shoot and I’m tired? It’s harder than it looks, standing still and looking pretty.”

 

“I have a whole new respect for your career.”

 

The after party is just like any other. The club has been shaded in blue, to reflect the ever-present night of the planet from their film, and the drinks are all different space themes. Jemma enjoys a bright blue concoction, named after the film, while Fitz opts for more beer. Bobbi drinks some sort of black liquid in a martini class, titled simply “It”, and Hunter has one too many Sandstorms.

 

While Hunter and Fitz grumble in the corner about how unfair it is that they’re still wearing suits, Bobbi drags Jemma out onto the dance floor. They bop around and giggle, enjoying their first real night out in what feels like ages. Jemma briefly searches the room for Fitz after nearly half an hour of dancing, and finds him talking not to Hunter, but to Darcy Lewis.

 

A brief flare of jealousy ignites in her chest but she quashes it as quickly as it comes. They’ve finally made themselves known as an official, honest-to-god couple. The last thing she wants to do is fight with him about a petty bout of jealousy. She knows that Fitz loves her and that he has no intention of running off with Darcy Lewis anyway.

 

Darcy flies completely out of her thoughts when Hunter is encouraged to take to the stage. He performs a few acoustic versions of his songs and Fitz joins her in swaying on the dance floor, hands splayed out on her lower back as he pulls her closer. They rotate in a little circle and she wonders if Fitz would jump through a hole in the universe for her, like his character in the movie did for hers.

 

She glances up into his eyes and sees the blatant love there. She thinks maybe he would.

 

***

 

They fly home the next morning, the journey home made that much longer by having spent the whole night out. By the time they land in Los Angeles, all four of them find themselves at some variation of hungover and exhausted. All Jemma wants to do is crawl in bed with Widget, so she shoots a quick text to Trip and Skye asking them to drop Widget off at home when they get the chance.

 

Fitz opts for heading over to his apartment, since no one had been watching it and he’d been expecting a delivery of a couple of screenplays. The car drops him off at home before taking her to her house, and as soon as she gets there, she drops her bags in the hallway and drags herself up to bed.

 

Her phone chimes just as she begins to fall asleep, and with a whiny groan, she checks it. It’s an email from an unknown contact, containing several attachments with the subject line “you should see this.”

 

She sighs, sitting up on one elbow and downloading the pictures. They’re all of Fitz and Darcy from the after party last night, taken on a grainy cell phone. She’s sure of who sent these to her. There’s no doubt in her mind that this has Christine Simmons written all over it, and she’s even more sure of the fact that by the time she wakes, they’ll be on TMZ. Tossing her phone aside, she finds she doesn’t even have the energy to be enraged. Instead, she snuggles further into her blankets and gives in to sleep.

 

When she wakes, she rolls around rather helplessly for a while before her need for food and water wins out. Widget is curled up on the pillow beside her, and Jemma smiles at her sleeping pet. She pats her dog twice and then makes her way downstairs, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

 

She almost misses the figure in her living room, and she gasps, backing into a wall with her hand on her chest.

 

“Ugh, Fitz! You scared me half to death!” she admonishes. “You should have woken me.”

 

He smiles nervously, shoving his hands in his pockets as he shifts uncomfortable from foot to foot. “You seemed tired, I didn’t want to bother you.”

 

She leans heavily against the wall, still feeling the jet lag in her bones. “Is everything alright? You seem anxious.”

 

He licks his lips and begins pacing, a sign she knows well. “I uh…I came over here to talk to you. I didn’t want you to get shanghaied by it.”

 

“By what?” she asks worriedly. “Fitz, what’s going on?”

 

He slips his phone out of his pocket, crossing the room to hand it to her. Low and behold, the grainy pictures she had received from her mother are plastered on TMZ’s website.

 

**_PARADISE LOST: ONE DAY IN AND LEO FITZ STRAYS_ **

****

_The same night that Leo Fitz, 25, and Jemma Simmons, also 25, made their romantic relationship public, Leo Fitz was spotted getting cozy with old flame Darcy Lewis during the afterparty for the premiere of Fitz and Simmons’ new flick, Maveth._

_Sources say that Simmons was out on the dance floor with model best friend Bobbi Morse, 27. While she was getting her party on, Fitz wandered over to his ex and made intimate conversation. According to our source, Fitz’s on-again-off-again fling with Lewis, 24, has dated back several years._

_Earlier in the night, Simmons told a New York Times reporter that she and Fitz are in love, but it looks like there’s already some trouble in paradise._

She finishes reading, scrolling through the now-familiar photos at the bottom of the article, and looks up to find Fitz sitting on her couch with his head in his hands.

 

“Oh, Fitz,” she says softly. He looks up, eyes bloodshot.

 

“Jemma, I _swear_ nothing was going on,” he insists, voice wobbling slightly. “She was asking me about you, and I was just explaining how we got together and how happy I was. We were only so close together because it was…it was so _loud,_ and Hunter had wandered off to get another bloody Sandstorm.”

 

“Hey,” Jemma cuts him off, sitting on the coffee table in front of him and placing her hands on his knees. “Fitz, relax. I really didn’t think anything of it.”

 

“Really?” he croaks. “Because I would _never_ do anything to hurt you. I know how much it hurt that Will was…well, y’know, and I would never do anything like that. I promise.”

 

“I know that,” she says softly, lips quirking up in a smile. “Besides, I saw those pictures before I fell asleep.”

 

His brow furrows. “What? How. This article came out two hours ago.”

 

Jemma rolls her eyes. “I have a pretty good feeling about who had those pictures taken.”

 

She explains the e-mail to him, and her suspicions of her mother’s involvement. He watches her carefully as she explains, and when she finishes, he agrees with her that it seems like Christine Simmons was TMZ’s “source.”

 

“I think we should move in together,” he blurts out.

 

Her eyes widen, mouth opening and closing several times. “What?”

 

“I think we should,” he tries again. “I mean, I practically live here anyway. Most of my stuff is here and we spend all of our time here.”

 

“But we’ve only been together for a few months.”

 

“I know that,” Fitz concedes. “I know. But just—I think it’s a good idea. It feels like every time we’re on track, something tries to pull us apart and maybe if—maybe if we’re living together and in the same place, maybe these things will stop happening.”

 

“You know that’s not how it works,” she reminds him patiently. “I just think…I think that’s a big decision to make, and it’s something we should really think about. You seem agitated and upset, I don’t want to rush into anything that we may regret.”

 

He swallows hard, standing up and causing her hands to fall away from him. He clears his throat roughly, hands clasping together behind his neck. “Yeah. Uh, okay. You’re right. I’m sure it’s something you have to take your time on.”

 

“Fitz—“ she tries.

 

He musters up a half-smile. “No, Jemma, it’s fine. I get it. I honestly do. We can take out time with it. Think about it. It just feels…sometimes it kind of feels like we’re cursed, don’t you think?”

 

She frowns. “No, I don’t think that at all. Since when do you believe in ridiculous things like curses?”

 

“The past couple of years are enough to make me think that the cosmos want us to be apart,” he admits openly. Her brow furrows and she resists the urge to cross her arms.

 

“Don’t be ridiculous. The cosmos doesn’t _want_ anything,” Jemma insists. “If you ask me, we’ve got some of the best luck in the world. Look at our lives! At everything we have and everything we’ve had a chance to do together. I think that—“

 

She’s cut off by her phone ringing loudly on the coffee table, and she doesn’t even glance at it. This conversation feels important, and she just _knows_ that if she lets it go now, they may never circle back to it.

 

“You should get it,” Fitz says. “It’s Phil.”

 

She shrugs him off. “I’m sure it’s not important. Not as important as this.”

 

“He had something he wanted to tell us about auditions for Inevitable.”

 

Fitz reaches forward and snatches her phone, answering it with ease. “Hi Phil. Yeah, hang on, I’ll put you on speaker.”

 

Jemma gives him a warning look but he avoids her gaze, adopting his usual business stance and voice as he pushes the key to turn the phone on speaker.

 

“Hey guys,” Phil greets. “Natasha is already running damage control on those photos, so don’t get too worked up about it. I know how you two can get.”

 

“Thanks,” Fitz practically grunts. “So, you had something about auditions?”

 

“Right, yeah,” Phil says, shifting the topic back. Fitz loosens up a little bit, staring intently at the phone. “It looks like we’ll be holding auditions for some of the principle supporting characters in two days. We’re looking for Chloe and Brett first. Then we’re looking for Luke, Nick, and Adrianne.”

  
“Great, and where are we holding the auditions?” Jemma chimes in.

 

“That was my next thing. You two don’t technically have to be involved in the casting process, but you’re more than welcome to be.”

 

Jemma and Fitz exchange a look before Jemma speaks on their behalf. “No, I think we’d like to be involved. We’ll give the casting director the final say, obviously, but we definitely want to provide some input.”

 

“Yeah, we have some pretty clear visions for these characters.”

 

“Understood. I’ll let them know. Auditions are at Shield Pictures this Wednesday, starting at 9 a.m.”

 

“Sounds great,” Jemma says. “We’ll be there.”

 

“Alright. Catch up on your rest, I heard the premiere went great. Critics seem to like Maveth. I’ll be emailing a bundle of reviews your way later today.”

 

“Sounds great,” Fitz says, echoing Jemma’s earlier sentiment. “Talk to you later.”

 

He hangs up and shoves his hands back in pockets. “I should probably head home.”

 

“Fitz—“

 

“Jemma, it’s fine,” he shrugs. “I really do understand, it was a rash thing to ask you anyway. You’re not where I am yet. That’s alright.”

 

“I don’t think you understand what I’m trying to say.”

 

“I really do,” he continues. “I expected this. I knew that you would take a while to catch up to me. I’m okay with that, I really--”

 

“It’s not like that,” Jemma cuts him off. “It’s not about catching up. I’m just as serious about this relationship as you are!”

 

His hands go to his hips and he bends slightly at the waist. “You’re right. I know. I’m just—I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that we’re together to begin with. There’s always some new roadblock to deal with and I’m just getting tired of it.”

 

She wraps her arms around his neck, forcing him to look at her as his hands wind around her waist.

 

“You dove through a hole in the universe for me,” she teases, kissing him softly on the lips.

 

He rolls his eyes. “Technically I jumped into a CGI kiddy pool.”

 

“Same thing.”

 

As much as she wants to distract him with more and more kissing, her stomach grumbles loudly and forces her to pull away.

 

“Sorry, I’m feeling a little peckish,” she grimaces. He chuckles and nods toward the kitchen.

 

“C’mon. I brought you some takeout, we can heat it up.”

 

She beams and squeezes his arm. “You’re the best.”

 

She watches him move around her kitchen and starts to wonder if moving in together might be the best idea he’s ever had. He’s right; he does practically live here already, and she’d been so upset when he wanted to go back to his own apartment when she had finally healed. He walks her dog when she’s too busy, he helps her tidy up, and half of his close occupy a good portion of her closet. The thought of Fitz leaving for his own apartment and of waking up alone without him beside her sends her mind spinning. She doesn’t want to make any impulsive decisions though, so she keeps it to herself. At least for now.


	22. Auditions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma and Fitz begin auditioning actors for their new film. An unwelcomed appearance from Will Daniels presents Jemma with the opportunity to settle the score on her own terms. Later, Jemma has something important to share with Fitz, but a call from her lawyer ruins the opportunity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! Another update! Only four more chapters to go, somehow. I can't believe it!

Jemma tucks her hair behind her ears, shifting in her seat at the casting table. It’s strange, to be on this side of an audition. A stack of resumes sits in front of her, headshots staring up at her. Fitz leans back in his seat, tilting his head to whisper to her.

 

“Well this is odd,” he comments. She turns and gives him a weak smile.

 

“Are you sure we should be here?” Jemma asks tentatively. “Maybe we’re too close to the script.”

 

“I don’t think so,” Fitz shrugs. “We know these characters better than anyone. We’ll find the right people.”

 

Sharon Carter leans across Fitz’s other side and gives Jemma a reassuring smile. “He’s right. You’ll get a feel for it and you’ll know exactly who the right person is when they walk in.”

 

Their casting director’s assurances have her smiling excitedly and she nods. “Okay. Let’s get started then, shall we?”

 

Sharon gestures to her assistant, who stands near the door. The assistant checks a list on her clipboard.

 

“Starting with auditions for the role of Chloe,” Sharon announces. “First on the schedule?”

 

“Skye Johnson,” the assistant announces. She opens the door and steps into the hall, bringing Skye inside. Jemma shuffles through her pile of resumes and headshots, finding Skye’s picture easily and scanning her information carefully. She wants to treat Skye like she would treat any other actress auditioning for the role. Fitz sits up straighter in his chair and smoothes back his hair.

 

Jemma suddenly recalls bickering with him in her kitchen about Skye auditioning for the role of Chloe. That had been months ago, back when she’d felt like he was replacing her with the quirky, cute sitcom actress who has since become one of her dear friends. Regardless, a wave of tension rolls over her and Fitz immediately senses it.

 

He glances in her direction a little nervously, and she steadfastly stares forward. The last thing she needs right now is some kind of _thing_ between her and Fitz to affect any of their casting decisions. She flips open her notebook, uncaps her pen, and smiles invitingly at Skye. Above all else, she’s a professional, and she’s sure that the strange feeling in her stomach will pass. Fitz sighs lightly, rolling up his sleeves as he copies her.

 

“You okay?” he can’t resist murmuring under his breath just before she opens her mouth to begin.

 

“Mhm,” she hums. “Just—you know.”

 

He licks his lips and nods. “Yeah, I do. But—“

 

“I know,” she interrupts. “And she’s my friend now. So let’s get on with this, shall we?”

 

Fitz nods and turns his attention forward. Sharon looks between Fitz and Jemma to check if they’re both ready, and then smiles politely at Skye.

 

“Okay, Miss Johnson. Whenever you’re ready.”

 

Skye squares her shoulders and takes a moment to look them all briefly in the eyes. The strange feeling in her stomach subsides, replaced with a swell of pride for her friend. Skye launches into the sides, with Sharon reading the other part. The role of Chloe is the best friend of Jemma’s role, Lizzie.

 

Skye does an amazing job. She rattles off the wordy, chatty dialogue with ease, oozing charm and maintaining a level of sarcastic distance that Jemma hadn’t truly expected anyone to achieve in the audition process. She makes note of it on her sheet and places a star next to Skye’s name on the audition schedule. She takes a deep breath and meets Skye’s eyes as the scene finishes.

 

She sees the hope there, the trust and the excitement bubbling underneath the brown. When Jemma breathes back out, she decides that this is her moment—it’s time to truly and honestly relinquish the resentment she’s had pent up inside of her ever since Fitz had first been photographed with Skye. She can practically feel the jealousy and anger and hurt leaving her body.

 

She shoots Skye a little smile, crinkling her nose conspiratorially. Skye returns the favor, thanks them for their time, and leaves through the door she entered in.

 

“She was wonderful,” Sharon comments. “She brought something really great to the part.”

 

Fitz hesitates, chewing on his lip as he peaks at Jemma from the corner of his eye. Jemma realizes he’s not going to say anything until he gets a good read on her, so she checks her notes and agrees with Sharon.

 

“Absolutely,” Jemma says. “I had really hoped for someone to bring a certain level of guardedness to a bubbly, outgoing character, which isn’t exactly easy to do, and it’s not in the role sheet. She really impressed me.”

 

“Me too,” Fitz chimes in. “And I swear, we didn’t discuss this role with her at all.”

 

“Oh, not in the slightest,” Jemma seconds. “We wanted her to play it as organically as she could.”

 

Sharon laughs. “Don’t worry, guys. You’ve been nothing short of professional this entire time. I’m really not concerned with any nepotism. Besides, you gave me veto power.”

 

Jemma laughs lightly. “That we did. Alright, let’s bring in the next.”

 

The assistant does, and the morning passes in a steady stream of girls in their early to mid twenties. Jemma is a little surprised to find Raina on their schedule. She taps the name and alerts Fitz, who widens his blue eyes.

 

“If she’s auditioning…” Fitz begins, trailing off.

 

“Then that means we’ve done something right here,” Jemma whispers back excitedly. “You know she won’t audition for anything that she doesn’t think will take her straight to the top of Oscar buzz.”

 

He bites back a grin and nods, squeezing her knee quickly beneath the table. She wants to lean over and kiss him in her giddy excitement, but opts for grabbing his hand and giving it a squeeze of her own, in the interest of professionalism.

 

They take a break after the parade of actresses auditioning for Chloe and for Ruth, launching right into auditions for some of the male characters afterward. It doesn’t go quite as smoothly as the others, and Jemma feels the first stirrings of frustration.

 

Clint Barton, of all people, shows up for an audition. Jemma has always liked him. In fact, he’s her second-favorite boyfriend of Bobbi’s, falling just a few points shy of Hunter. But the fact of the matter is, he’s a fantastic athlete and a _horrible_ actor.

 

Jemma leans back in her chair in exhaustion as Clint leaves the room. She exchanges a look with Fitz and quickly shakes her head. 

 

“Not him,” Jemma says, just as Fitz says “It’s gonna be a no on that one.” 

 

Sharon pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs. It’s evident that she’s feeling the strain, too. “Alright. Fine.” 

 

She calls out to her assistant to bring in the next actor to read for the part. Will Daniels enters the room, the sides from their script clutched in one hand and an amicable expression on his face. The front legs of Fitz’s chair land on the ground with a hard squeak and Jemma briefly considers whether or not Fitz is actually agile enough to jump over the table to throttle her ex. 

 

_Fitz slides through the crowded hallway, trying to find somewhere in the club that isn’t entirely too hot and way too loud._

_He’d taken the bullet for this party. He and Jemma have to be seen a certain number of times in the lead-up to the premiere of The Sun Will Rise. It’s one of his least favorite parts of the job, all the publicity stunts and appearances. He hates interviews, he hates running around at clubs and farmers markets just to get enough buzz surrounding his name in anticipation of a new movie._

_Usually, Jemma does a lot of this, or they at least do it together. Their managers have reminded them more than once that some of their best box office numbers have directly correlated to heightened frequency of dating rumors about the two of them. It makes his heart flutter just thinking about it, and he shakes himself to clear it._

_Jemma is in no state to date, anyway. She’s currently going through the motions of dealing with her and Will’s breakup, the public fallout of which is completely different from any other breakup she’s ever had. She’s hardly wanted to leave the house and he can’t say he blames her._

_“Fitz,” a drunken voice slurs as Fitz nearly makes it to the door of the club. “Is Jemma with you?”_

_He spins around to face Will Daniels, feeling entirely too sober and agitated to be in this club to begin with, let alone to be in the same space as the man he hates most in the world._

_Even more than his own deadbeat dad, even more than Jemma’s shitty distant father—this guy takes the cake, at least right now._

_“No,” he growls. “She’s not, and like I said before, I advise you to stay the hell away from her.”_

_Will grins slowly, eyes glassy with drunkenness and something dark. “She wouldn’t want that. She never wanted me to stay away from her before.”_

_Fitz scoffs, shoving past him. “Yeah well, that was before she knew you were married, you son of a bitch.”_

_Will grabs his arm and turns him around. Fitz’s hands clench into fists and he grits his jaw so hard it hurts his head. “It’s sad though, right? Cause even though she hates me right now, I’ve still got a better shot with her than you do. Give it a month or two and she’s going to understand. She’ll come back for me.”_

_“You’re delusional.”_

_“Am I though?” Will says. “Because last I checked, you were just her little buddy and I was the one she wanted to—“_

_The anger and indignation that rises up in him propels his body forward, and Fitz punches Will so hard in the face that the impact is audible even over the pounding of the music. Trip comes running from nearby, yanking Fitz back as he goes in for another hit._

_Will lunges at him and Trip shoves him backwards, still struggling to prevent Fitz from continuing his attack. Cameras flash all around them and Fitz knows, just knows, that he’ll be getting a stony meeting with Melinda the next day. This isn’t exactly what she meant when she suggested that Fitz and Jemma get back in the spotlight in a positive way._

_“You’re never gonna be good enough for her!” Will hisses. Fitz hardly hears him over the music and the struggling. “You hurt her just as bad as I did, so you have some fucking nerve—“_

_“You’re right,” Fitz half-shouts to be heard, finally calming down enough to stop fighting against Trip’s hold. “I’m not good enough for her. I did hurt her. But I’d never, ever do_ anything _to her on purpose. I may not be good enough, but then again I don’t think anyone is. The fact that you somehow think_ you _are? You’re an even shittier excuse for a human being than I thought you were, and let me tell you, I had a really, really low opinion of you already.”_

_Fitz turns on his heel and storms out of the club, leaning against the wall in exhaustion. His heart thumps painfully in his chest and he flexes his aching hand, injured from making contact with Will’s jaw._

Jemma grabs at Fitz underneath the table. She’s seen enough headlines with the two of them going at it, and she doesn’t want their new film to have this horrible press associated with it. The project means too much to her, and she’s long since moved on from the hurt he caused her. The damage is in the past, and it has no place in her future. She’s happy now, content with the people she’s surrounded herself with.

 

Fitz turns to her with a furrowed brow. “What do you want to do?”

 

His deference to her judgment shows her just how much things have changed recently. He looks angry, sure, but in a restrained way that she didn’t actually know he was capable of off-camera. Her mind whirls with all of the possibilities of how she can respond to this situation.

 

She glances over at Will. He gives her a half-smug, half-nervous smile. The conflict is evident in his eyes—he’s not so sure this was a good idea.

 

Well, if that’s his hypothesis—Jemma has no problem proving him right. She smiles, sure that it doesn’t reach the cold anger in her eyes. She reaches over to the side and leafs through some papers until she finds the sides she’s looking for.

 

“I think you’d be a far better fit for this role,” Jemma suggests, leaning across the table to hand the pages of the script to him. His eyebrows shoot up and he accepts them. She doesn’t give him a chance to skim, snatching up another copy and collapsing back into her chair. She immediately starts reading for her role, Lizzie, as Fitz watches the side of her face carefully.

 

“How could you do this to me?” Jemma asks dully, the same way she reads any other part during someone else’s audition.

 

“I never wanted to hurt you,” Will reads back. Something dawns on his face and Jemma smiles. Fitz leans his elbow on the table, stifling his own grin with his hand as he watches. Sharon throws her hands up and leans back in her seat.

 

“But you still did. And in the end, it all hurts just the same,” Jemma continues in the same monotone voice.

 

Will clears his throat. “I didn’t know how _good_ you are, Lizzie. I didn’t know.”

 

“What did you want so badly? Is this why you’ve been trying to push me away from Ethan? So you can take his place?”

 

“He’s in love with you!” Will explodes, throwing the sides away from him. They make a loud smacking noise on the ground and Jemma bites on her lip to keep from smiling in victory.

 

“Is there a problem, Mr. Daniels?” Fitz pipes in. He crosses his arms in a challenge. “We didn’t ask you to stop reading.”

 

Will shoots a fiery glare in his direction and then turns his attention back to Jemma. “You were never like this.”

 

“I suppose dating a married man changes a woman.”

 

“Or dating _him_ changed you,” Will retorts, gesturing vaguely in Fitz’s direction.   
“This isn’t you. You’re kind, and—“

 

“Oh, I’m still kind,” Jemma interrupts. “But the thing is, I’m sort of done accepting less than I deserve. I probably always deserved more than you.”

 

Will flinches, a muscle in his jaw twitching. “This is completely unprofessional. Your manager will be hearing from mine.”

 

“Oh, I’m sure Melinda will just love a call from Gideon,” Jemma sasses. “You know how she just adores him.”

 

Will turns on his heel and storms out. Sharon looks between Jemma and Fitz, standing up to briefly leave the room.

 

“I’m going to run to the restroom,” Sharon tells them. Jemma laughs lightly and nods. As soon as she’s gone, Fitz turns to Jemma with a knowing look.

 

“How good did that feel?” he asks her. She grins and shuts her eyes, leaning her head back.

 

“Amazing,” she sighs. “I can’t believe he ever thought that I would work with him.”

 

“Maybe he didn’t know that it was our project,” Fitz shrugs. Jemma shoots him a look and he shakes his head. “Yeah no, you’re right. He definitely knew.”

 

Jemma rolls her eyes. There is a beat of silence, Jemma’s expression shifting from exasperated to something more tentative. “Do you think I really behaved unprofessionally?”

 

“Well yeah,” Fitz agrees. Jemma looks to the floor and he uses his fingers to push her chin back up. She meets his eyes and he smiles softly. “But if anyone deserved it, it was that guy.

 

“Still—“

 

“Jemma, don’t beat yourself up over it,” Fitz assures her. “You didn’t do anything that bad, okay? My plan was far worse than yours.”

 

“What was your plan?”

 

“To slam his smug cabbage head into the table.”

 

Jemma snorts out a laugh. Fitz splutters in mock-offense.

 

“What, you don’t think I could do it?!”

 

“Of course you could.”

 

She leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to his lips. Just as she pulls away, Sharon re-enters the room with her assistant.

 

“Bring in the next,” Sharon tells the younger girl. She turns back to Jemma and Fitz and gives them an amused look. “Any other revenge plots I should know about moving forward?”

 

Jemma’s face heats up. She looks away with a shake of her head as Fitz barks out a laugh.

 

“I think we’ve gotten all of our vengeance today,” Fitz teases. “Right, Jemma?”

 

“Yes,” Jemma says shyly. Fitz briefly squeezes her shoulder, moving back to his own space as the next actor enters.

 

Jemma straightens, lifting her chin and looking directly at the new actor. It’s time to get it together. As shaken as she is by what happened, she feels some sense of satisfaction from what she’s done. Facing him head-on and throwing what he did back in his face had felt almost intoxicating. The expression on his face when he’d realized what role he was reading for—well, she only wished she’d brought a camera.

 

Smiling to herself, she decides that it’s all right to get a little unprofessional every once and a while. She’s sure that Melinda will agree with her.

 

***

 

Later that night, she sits on the desk of her and Fitz’s new official office, staring at the many headshots lined up on the walls under carefully lettered character names.

 

“Skye is the best,” Jemma says with certainty. Her headshot is lined up at the very top of the line, beaming back down at them with an open, friendly smile.

 

Fitz worries his lip between his teeth, spinning around once in the chair and then stopping himself at Jemma’s annoyed huff. “Don’t you think it’s going to look like we’re favoring her?”

 

“We know almost everyone in the industry,” Jemma reasons. “It would be impossible for us not to have some connection to anyone we choose.”

 

“Sure, but _Skye_?”

 

“She was the best by far,” Jemma reminds him. “You said so.”

 

“Well yeah, but—“

 

“So what’s the issue?” Jemma presses. “Is it really just you being afraid what people will think? That’s never been much of a problem for you.”

 

“I know,” Fitz admits. He drops his chin onto his hand and peers carefully at the rows and rows of headshots. “This is real.”

 

She turns to look at him, swinging her legs to the other side of the desk. “It is, isn’t it?”

 

“I almost thought it wouldn’t happen,” he marvels. She watches him in concern and he brushes her off. “Not like that. Remember when we got so stuck in the fourth universe? We couldn’t figure out how we could ever push the story past it.”

 

Jemma laughs at the memory of hair-pulling frustration. If they’d been together then, she thinks, there would have been a lot of ways to get rid of that urge. Instead, they’d done a lot of binge watching of favorite movies, pulling apart the storylines and graphing them out on giant whiteboards in her office. They’d eventually pieced it together, after almost a week of sleepless nights and pointless arguments.

 

“Oh, that was awful. I nearly thought we’d never speak again after the fight over the bar scene,” Jemma giggles. He rolls his eyes.

 

“Still think it would have been better _my_ way, but—“

 

Jemma narrows her eyes at him. “We are not doing this again.”

 

He puts his hands up in surrender, an easy grin breaking over his face. “Fine, fine. We won’t do this. But I will do _this.”_

 

He tugs her onto his lap, her legs landing a bit clumsily on either side of his lap in the office chair. Her arms instinctively come up to land on his shoulders, one of them wandering aimlessly into his hair.

 

“We have a perfectly good private office,” he grins, waggling his eyebrows teasingly. “Seems like the kind of thing we ought to make good use of.”

 

“Our callback list is due at 8 p.m.,” she whines, trying halfheartedly in her attempts to break away from him. Fitz can tell that her heart isn’t in it, busying himself with placing quick, burning kisses down the column of her neck.

 

She sighs, tilting her head back to allow him better access before finally pushing herself off of his shoulders and wriggling onto her feet. He groans low in his throat but otherwise doesn’t comment, standing up and placing his hands on his hips in that ridiculous stance of his.

 

“You’ve been doing that since we were seventeen,” she comments, moving in front of him to switch the order of headshots under the name Nick, the character that is Fitz’s character’s best friend. He watches her move and nods in approval.

 

“Doing what?” he asks distractedly.

 

“Standing like a pregnant woman.”

 

“I do not!”

 

“You do!” she laughs. Something about the familiar posturing has her thinking again about the possibility of living together. They’d gotten ready at her house that morning, dancing around each other in her en suite bathroom with complete ease. He’d taken Widget for a short walk as she dried her hair, and while he changed his shirt she’d made breakfast.

 

Their domestic routine has fallen together the same way that their professional partnership and friendship had—completely seamlessly, working in almost wordless synchronization in a way that she knows she’s never had, and will likely never have, with anyone else on Earth.

 

She licks her lips nervously, tucking her hair behind her ears. She takes a deep breath, preparing to tell him what’s on her mind. After all, he’d taken the leap with her in suggesting moving in to begin with. She’s fairly certain that more of his things are in her house than his apartment at this point, and his brief trips home to get more things seem like a terrible inconvenience.

 

All she has to do is open her mouth and say the words. She’s sure he’ll agree. At least, she certainly hopes that he will, and she feels like it’s the most likely outcome. She’s weighed the pros and cons, measured the likelihood of success versus failure, and like most things in life, she thinks that she would rather take this step with Fitz than with anyone else in the world.

 

She’s never really had a roommate before, and she can’t imagine a better one than Fitz.

 

“Jemma?” he asks carefully.

 

“Hm?” she mumbles, tearing herself from her thoughts.

 

“What’s up?” he asks. “You’re on another planet.”

 

She shakes herself and prepares to just spit it out and _ask him already._

 

But then her phone starts ringing, the loud ringtone tearing through the silence of the moment. Fitz reaches for it on the table, still watching her carefully, and she glances at the name and frowns.

 

“It’s Foggy,” she tells him. Foggy Nelson has been her lawyer ever since she fired her mother as her manager. He’d represented her in contract termination negotiations, and he’d represented her in everything ever since. She slides the little bar to answer the call, pressing it to her ear with a rising sense of frustration at being interrupted. “Hello?”

 

“Hi Jemma,” Foggy greets. “So listen, we have a problem.”

 

“How so?” Jemma asks tentatively. “Please tell me this isn’t what I think it is.”

 

“Well, if you think it’s your psychotic bitch of a mother, then I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but…”

 

Jemma sinks back to sit on the desk, pinching the bridge of her nose. She sighs heavily. “What has she done now?”

 

“I just got a letter from her lawyer,” Foggy explains. “They’re trying to get an injunction to prevent you from blocking this pet project she has in the works.”

 

“Pet project?” Jemma scoffs. “You mean whoring out my life story to make money off of me?”

 

“Ya know, that’s exactly how I would put it. It sounds like you’re familiar with the situation already.”

 

“She may have mentioned it when I ran into her in England,” Jemma winces. She can hear him groan in annoyance.

 

“Come on!” he whines. “You know to tell me these things so I’m not blindsided by letters. If you had just told me, I could have taken a preemptive strike.”

 

“I know,” Jemma agrees. “And I’m really sorry. I would just really prefer to handle this outside of the public eye, and if we respond in writing—“

 

“Then she’s going to plaster it on every magazine cover in the U.S.,” Foggy finishes. “Probably a good call. But hey, listen, if you can’t settle this or you need some negotiating tips, you know who to call.”

 

“Matt?” Jemma teases, referencing Foggy’s law partner.

 

“Me!” he half-shouts. “Oh. You’re fucking with me.”

 

“Always am,” she says cheekily. “Thanks for the call, Foggy. Can you send a copy of that letter my way? And CC Melinda and Phil?”

 

“Karen’s already on it,” Foggy tells her. “You should have it in a couple minutes. Like I said, you know who to call.”

 

“Talk to you later.”

 

Jemma hangs up and tosses the phone aside. “How is it that you have the sweetest mum in the world and mine is practically the creature from the Black Lagoon?”

 

“What’s she done now?” Fitz asks, abandoning the project at hand. Jemma shakes her head, checking her email and finding the letter. She spins the screen of her laptop around to allow Fitz access and he skims it quickly. “She can’t be serious.”

 

“Have you met my mother?” Jemma asks sardonically. “She’s _always_ serious.”

 

Fitz grimaces. “That she is. You know, I think there’s a pretty easy solution to this, Jemma.”

 

“I’m all ears.”

 

“Cut them off,” Fitz shrugs, as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world. Jemma supposes it probably is. “I don’t even know why you’re still supporting them.”

 

“They’re my parents,” Jemma responds immediately. It’s like a reflex, an automated defensive response to any criticism of her family. “They’re the only family I have in the world. That means something.”

 

“That’s not true,” Fitz argues. “You have me, and my mum, and Phil and Melinda—“

 

“That’s not the same!” Jemma bursts out, hands flying to the top of her head. She lowers them, vaguely registering that her fingers shake. “It’s just…I know you’re trying to help, Fitz, but it just _isn’t_ the same.”

 

He leans heavily on the desk. “No, I know. I know it’s not. All I’ve got is Mum and I can’t—I’m pretty sure there’s nothing she could do that I wouldn’t forgive. But Jemma, they were never like my mum. They’ve always treated you like a possession.”

 

“I know that.”

 

“You’re like their doll that they take out to play with and parade around when they want to, and when they’re done with you, they shove you in the back of the closet,” Fitz reminds her. “I just…I hate to see what they do to you. Both of them. It’s not just your mum, your dad could have stopped her at any time.”

 

“If he’d ever stuck around for long enough to notice either of us,” Jemma spits bitterly. He reaches over to cover her hand with his. “I know they’re horrible, okay? I don’t even have the words for the way that I feel about them. It’s so complicated. I love them but I don’t _like_ them. I resent them for what they did to me my whole life. My father made me feel useless and unimportant and my mother made me feel like absolutely nothing I ever did was enough. But I wouldn’t have any of this if it weren’t for them.”

 

“Yes, you would have. Your talent doesn’t come from them.”

 

Jemma shakes her head softly, staring down at the wood. “I was never like you. Acting always came naturally to you. You just started and you hit the ground running. I had to study it, massage it, sculpt it. My mum and dad paid for all of that. They put me through intensive camps and sent me to a specialized arts school, all to get me here. I wouldn’t be what I am without them.”

 

“Maybe that’s true,” Fitz admits after a long pause. “But that’s for better or for worse, you know? Sure, maybe you wouldn’t have won an Oscar at eighteen years old. I think you would have become an actor anyway, and a damn good one, but I may me biased. But you also wouldn’t have spent years practically starving, Jemma. You wouldn’t have been crying in the bathroom with your fingers down your throat.”

 

Jemma flinches, withdrawing her hand. He grabs it and walks forward, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

 

“We got you through that,” Fitz tells her softly. “Me and Melinda and Phil, we all got you through what she did, and we’re going to get you through this too.”

 

“Do you really think I can do this?” Jemma asks him. Her voice cracks, eyes burning with tears that she doesn’t quite understand. Maybe it’s the mention of the ways that her mother’s criticisms had once broken her down to almost nothing. Maybe it’s the strange feeling of grief that always accompanies thoughts of her family.

 

Or maybe it’s that she’s actually going to do this. Maybe it’s that she’s really going to cut off her parents once and for all.

 

Fitz is right. She built this life for herself, cobbled together her own little family. While they may be just as fucked up and fallible as the one she was born into, at least they love her. At least they protect her and know her and care for her.

 

“I think you can do anything,” Fitz says confidently. “And I know that you’re going to be okay, no matter what you do.”

 

Jemma squares her shoulders, looking him in the eyes as she sucks in a deep breath. “I’m cutting them off.”

 

He pulls her into his arms as her face finds its familiar spot between his shoulder and neck. As soon as she breathes him in, she rasps out a shaky, dry sob. She can’t stop for a long while after that. She never mentions moving in together, but when she gathers herself and they finish the callback sheet, he comes back to her house anyway.

 

They brush their teeth side by side. He teases her about her excessive skincare routine and she gripes about the double standard of Hollywood, since he hardly has to do anything to stay attractive.

 

They slide into bed with Widget curled up comfortably at their feet. In the morning, she’ll call them. The threat she’s about to make sits heavy in her heart, but she finds it easy to fall asleep with Fitz wrapped around her back.


	23. Bury Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma faces off with her parents once and for all and learns some startling information. She visits Melinda and they come to a decision regarding John Garrett. At a dinner party at Skye's, she shares her information with her friends, and later, some major casting decisions are made.

The next morning, Jemma paces in her home office with her cell phone pressed to her ear. She waits for her mother to answer the phone, heart thudding against her ribcage. Fitz simply watches her from his spot on the floor with Widge. His presence is calming, and she glances at him every few seconds to ground herself.

 

He nods at her encouragingly, shooting her a little wink before he flips Widget onto her back to give her a rather enthusiastic belly rub. Jemma wishes she weren’t on her phone so that she could put this moment up on her SnapChat—she can only imagine the fan response.

 

“Jemma,” her mother finally answers. “I can’t say I expected to hear from you.”

 

Jemma swallows hard and freezes in her tracks. “I can’t say I expected to be calling. I looked over the letter you sent my lawyer.”

 

“Darling, you know I wouldn’t have involved a lawyer if there was any other choice. It’s ugly business, isn’t it, having to get a shark like that involved in your family affairs?”

 

“Yes, mother, it _is_ ugly business,” Jemma says through gritted teeth. “Very ugly business that you started. I just wanted to get actual confirmation from you. You actually intend to sue me for my own life rights?”

 

“If you won’t sign off on this project, then I’ll have no choice.”

 

Her mother sounds as flippant and cold as she always has, even when threatening to sue her own daughter, and the distance strengthens her.

 

“That’s a real shame, then,” Jemma sighs in a teasing kind of sadness. “I suppose that I’ll have no choice than to stop depositing those checks to you and dad’s accounts. Perhaps it’s time to downsize your house.”

 

“Jemma Simmons, you wouldn’t dare.”

 

“See, but I would,” Jemma fires back. “I just wish I could understand why you’re so set on this. I’ve taken care of you and dad since I was seventeen, and somehow that still isn’t enough to pay back what I owe you.”

 

Fitz’s head snaps up from looking at Widget, giving her a warning look. They’d had a long discussion this morning about whether or not she truly owes her parents anything, and at Fitz’s urging, she’d even called up a therapist to make an appointment. She figures he’s probably right—she’s going to need one after this. She’s probably needed one for a very long time.

 

“We were given an offer that was incredibly attractive, Jemma,” her mother sighs tiredly. She can practically feel the condescension oozing off of her, even from thousands of miles away. “I know you’d like to pretend as though I’ve never taught you anything, but—“

 

“Is that honestly what you think?” Jemma asks, shocked. “Everything that I’ve done for you is because I feel a debt to you, mother. I know what you’ve taught me. What I don’t understand is why you’d want to put my life on display like some kind of craft project. You may have built me but you do not own me. And I’m sure there would be no reference to all that you put me through to make me what I am.”

 

Fitz stands, sensing the panic and urgency flowing through her increasingly rapid words. He rubs her back worriedly. Jemma glances over at him in reassurance before continuing on in the conversation with her mother.

 

“Jemma Simmons,” her mother snaps. “I did no such thing. You’ve just admitted yourself that you would be nothing without me.”

 

Fitz twitches, close enough now to hear both sides of the conversation. His hands clench with the urge to snatch the phone to give Victoria Simmons another piece of his mind, but Jemma deftly switches the phone to her other ear, giving him a warning look.

 

  
“And you would have nothing if not for me,” Jemma hisses. She extricates herself from Fitz’s gentle touch. His comforting warmth is not what she needs right now; he is like a warm bath after a long day, but right now she is a raging fire and the first time in her life she has no desire to put it out. “I hope you remember that after you’ve blown through what you have now, because it’s the last thing you’re getting out of me.”

 

“Jemma,” Christine says after a long beat of silence. “Think about what you’re doing.”

 

“Oh, I have thought about it,” Jemma laughs humorlessly. “I’ve had plenty of time to think about it. I had plenty of time to think about it when _Fitz’s mum_ helped me gain weight behind your back. I had plenty of time to think about it when I was humiliated in front of my peers, day after day after day. I had plenty of time to think when you and dad took nearly every dime I’d made on Chemistry. All I’ve done since then is have plenty of time to think about all of the ways that you don’t deserve anything from me, but I pushed it back and I fought with it and I buried it because at the end of the day, you and dad are my family.”

 

“Yes, we are, and—“

 

“Excuse me, Christine, I am not done speaking,” Jemma practically growls. Fitz backs away from her wearily. This is the most feral she’s ever felt, part woman part wolf. “You and dad may be my family but ultimately you’re just two people who had a child and decided to carve her into an image you wanted, even if she bled to death in the process.”

 

Her mother clucks her tongue disapprovingly. “All of this time on film sets has really affected your flare for the dramatic, Jemma. This is unacceptable and no way to speak to your parents!”

 

“Oh good!” Jemma exclaims brightly. “Is dad there? Is he on speaker? I was afraid I was going to have to repeat this entire conversation on another phone call.”

 

“I did the best I could for you,” Christine continues. “I did everything I could to guarantee that you wouldn’t be some burned out child star, rotting away in a wretched club in Hollywood.”

 

“But it never mattered to you what it might cost,” Jemma persists. “You never stopped to think of it and even if you had, I don’t think you’d have cared.”

 

A sudden flare of grief halts her breath and for a startling moment, she’s unsure that she’ll gain it back. She leans heavily on the desk with one hand and Fitz moves quickly across the room to touch her back once more.

 

“Jemma?” he asks quietly. She shakes her head quickly, trying to indicate that she’s fine even as she takes shallow, rapid breaths.

 

 

“I nearly died,” she says, her voice rising in pitch through her tight throat. Her face screws up painfully, on its own accord, as she fights valiantly against the tears that burn at her eyes. “I nearly died and you didn’t even show up.”

 

A long, tense silence follows her words. She hears her father cough loudly and Jemma hopes that there are tears burning at his eyes, too.

 

“I’m terribly sorry about that, Jemma,” her father says. His voice is gruff, a blatant sign of his distress. Jemma finds some pleasure in that but refuses to let it sway her from her steadfast decision to go through with this.

 

“We had a meeting,” her mother insists. “It was the day after your accident, in London. It was…it was about this biographical project and I didn’t want to let you down by missing an incredibly opportunity.”

 

“Let me down?” Jemma echoes disbelievingly. “Let me down by misrepresenting my life?”

 

Fitz backs away from her suddenly, going to her desk and uncapping a sharpie with his teeth. He grabs a sheet of computer paper and scrawls

 

GARRETT???

 

Jemma frowns, nearly rolling her eyes at his paranoia. She licks her lips and asks what feels like an absurd question.

 

“Were you approached by a man named John Garrett?” Jemma questions.

 

The other line goes silent.

 

“That was his name,” Jemma’s father confirms. “Kind of an odd man. He wore a black turtleneck both times that we met with him.”

 

“We just spoke to him two days ago,” Jemma’s mother adds. “Why do you ask?”

 

Her blood runs cold. She nods at Fitz in confirmation and a glimpse of his old temper emerges long enough for him to overturn most of the papers on her desk.

 

“That man was responsible for my accident. You don’t have to believe me,” Jemma explains, voice deadly serious. “And I’m sure that you won’t. But he is, and I have the proof. If he wanted to do a film about me, then there’s a reason for it that has nothing to do with me, or with you.”

 

“You have proof?” Christine asks. “You’re sure?”

 

“Yes, mum!” Jemma snaps. “I’m positive!”

 

Another lengthy stretch of quiet follows the proclamation. “I’ll send him an email right this minute, letting him know that we are not interested in continuing with this project.”

 

Jemma’s head spins with the surprise of the moment. Dazed, she blinks rapidly. “Really?”

 

“Of course,” Christine replies immediately. “I know that we have our differences, Jemma. But that man tried to kill my only child.”

 

Jemma resists the childish urge to hurl more insults at her mother. She wants to remark on the fact that Christine is likely upset because Garrett nearly derailed her gravy train, but opts against it. She has her parents on her side, for now, and she can’t underestimate the power of that.

 

“BCC me on the email, please,” Jemma says as coldly as she can. She hears Victoria sigh on the other line. A door slams, indicating that her father has stormed out.

 

“I need to go deal with him,” Christine informs her. Jemma nods, before remembering that her mum can’t actually see her.

 

“Right, of course. And um—thank you.”

 

“You’re quite welcome,” Christine replies softly. It’s the most affectionate her mother has sounded in Jemma’s recent memory. “And—I’m sorry. For whatever that might be worth to you.”

 

“It’s worth something,” Jemma says candidly. “I’m just not sure how much, at this moment. I still need you to know that I meant what I said about cutting you off. Even though you’re not going through with it, you were going to. That’s not forgotten now. I’ll need a signed contract to the affect of no longer pursuing my life rights on Foggy’s desk by Monday morning.”

 

“Goodbye, Jemma,” Christine says plainly. Jemma knows Christine well enough to hear the pain behind the words and her pulse quickens.

 

Jemma bids her mother goodbye and hangs up the line. She tosses the phone aside with shaking hands and turns to look at Fitz, who immediately rushes toward her. She collapses against his chest and lets out a shaking breath, surprised to find that her tears just won’t come.

 

A strange, chilling kind of numbness aches in her bones. She’s not sure when she’ll speak to her parents again, if ever. Her mother’s last semi-maternal action—the closest thing Jemma can consider protective instinct—has her shaken.

 

“Hey,” Fitz says softly. “Come on. You know you did the right thing.”

 

“Did I?” she murmurs into his chest. “It doesn’t feel like it.”

 

“It’s supposed to hurt,” he tells her, dropping a kiss on her forehead. “Sometimes that’s what it means to be family.”

 

“Do you think—do you think there’s any way that I’ll ever have a functional relationship with them?”

 

Fitz shrugs. “Maybe, yeah.”

 

She can practically feel the question he’s begging to ask vibrating between them.

 

“I have a plan, you know,” she tells him. “Melinda’s had her finger on the trigger ever since I got ahold of those emails.”

 

He raises his eyebrows to look at her. “Is this a literal or figurative trigger? With May, there’s really no way to tell.”

 

Jemma laughs and shakes her head. “If I told you, I would have to kill you. I’m going to head over to her place now.”

 

“Want me to come?” he asks hopefully. She looks away from his puppy dog eyes. She needs a moment for herself right now; besides, they’ve neglected a fair amount of work for casting.

 

“Could you stay here and finish up those recommendations for Sharon? She has to finish scheduling the last of the callbacks today. They’re all tomorrow, don’t forget.”

 

Fitz rolls his eyes and pulls out his phone. His wallpaper is set to a picture of Jemma's handwriting.

 

_CALL BACKS TOMORROW @ 9 A.M._

“You know, I think I’ve got that.”

 

Jemma smiles and reaches up to kiss him, taking a brief moment to revel in the fact that they can do this now, whenever they want. It sometimes surprises her, how different these kisses feel from the hundreds they’ve shared in front of strangers and cameras. His arms tighten around her, and when she pulls away he chases her into one more kiss before he releases his grip on her.

 

“I love you,” she tells him sincerely and suddenly. He grins, slightly bemused, and kisses the tip of her nose.

 

“Love you too. Drive safe, alright?”

 

“Mhm,” she hums. Widget stays with Fitz, making no effort to follow her, and Jemma can’t help but stick her tongue out at her dog as she walks past. “Traitor.”

 

She skips down the stairs and out of the house, slipping into her Mini Cooper and taking a moment to collect herself. The conflicting thoughts buzzing around in her mind take a little while to quiet, and when she finally feels ready, she sets off on her drive to Melinda’s.

 

She’s pleased to find the Acura in the driveway, not having bothered to send an advance text to check if Melinda was home. She knocks at the door and Melinda answers in yoga pants and a tight tank top. Not for the first time, Jemma sends up a quick message to the universe requesting to look this fantastic in her early 50s.

 

“Jemma,” May says, as if she’s not surprised to find the younger woman on her porch. Jemma wonders if anything ever surprises Melinda May. She seems omniscient, as if she has precognition of everything that’s about to happen.

 

“Hi. Can I come in?”

 

May steps aside, ushering her into the hallway and leading the way to the kitchen. She fills up her tea maker with a pungent green blend and clicks the button to brew it.

 

“What brings you here?”

 

Jemma takes a seat at Melinda’s familiar kitchen table, the same one that she’d signed her contract officially making Melinda her sole manager at. “I just spoke with my parents about the life rights situation.”

 

“Oh,” Melinda says simply. The tea maker beeps, the automated basket lifted the sopping leaves from the water. Melinda moves to pour them each a cup, adding just a spot of honey to Jemma’s and leaving her own plain. She sets the mugs down and takes a seat. “How did it go?”

 

Jemma swallows hard. “I cut them off. For good this time.”

 

In a movement of uncharacteristic tenderness, Melinda reaches out to lay her hand on Jemma’s forearm. “I know how hard that must have been for you.”

 

Jemma manages a crooked smile. “I think I was just surprised at how _angry_ I got.”

 

“That’s been eight years in the making,” Melinda says sagely, leaning back in her seat and removing her hand. “But I get the feeling that’s not why you’re here.”

 

Melinda has never been one to dance around a topic or mince words, something that Jemma has always been grateful for in a town full of so much pomp and circumstance.

 

“I got them to agree to sign a contract saying they’ll stop pursuing my life rights,” Jemma explains. “But only because they told me who wanted to make a movie about me to begin with. It was Garrett.”

 

Jemma has always known that there is darkness in Melinda, but she hadn’t truly seen it, not until this moment. Her face morphs into someone nearly unrecognizable, leaving Jemma almost breathless.

 

“He did what?” Melinda asks, deadly calm. The even tone of her voice accompanied by the bubbling rage in her eyes sends a shiver down Jemma’s spine.

 

“I think we need to leak the emails. Release them all,” Jemma says, leaning forward on her elbows on the table. “What do you think?”

 

May nods once, firmly. She stands up and carries in her laptop, along with the hard copy folder that Kara had given to Jemma.

 

“Let’s bury this son of a bitch,” Melinda says, slapping the folder down. Jemma grins, and even Melinda bites back a smile.

 

***

 

Fitz and Jemma arrive at Skye’s apartment that night, only a few camera flashes surrounding them. Skye had decided to host a “family dinner” once a week, but thus far had yet to actually host one. It’s the first time they’re all getting together in a while, and the first time they’ve seen Skye socially since the audition.

 

“You’re sure you want to tell them right now?” Fitz asks as they ride up in the elevator. Her palm is clammy in his grip, and he gives it a squeeze. “You don’t have to.”

 

“They’ll all see it in the papers tomorrow,” Jemma reminds him. “I’d rather them hear about it from me first.”

 

“Hey, it’s your choice,” he says a bit defensively. “You just seem nervous is all.”

 

She sighs, stopping him in the hallway when they reach Skye’s floor. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a bit snappy with you today.”

 

“It’s been a rough one,” he concedes. “As far as tough days go, this one is definitely in the books. I get it.”

 

“Still,” she sighs. Lowering her voice, she steps closer to him so they’re nearly chest-to-chest. “I promise to make it up to you.”

 

That gets a grin out of him. _Men_ , Jemma thinks. _So utterly predictable._

 

“I am very much looking forward to that,” he chuckles. “C’mon, they’re waiting.”

 

She follows him down to Skye’s door, slipping in with the key that she’d given them to her place. It’s easier this way, rather than having a bunch of A list celebrities hanging out in the hallway of the building.

 

Trip is in the kitchen cooking, and he greets them with a boisterous cheer. Skye sits on the couch, drinking wine and setting up a Jenga tower piece by piece.

 

“Wasn’t it your idea to have the family dinners?” Fitz teases, ruffling Skye’s hair. Her Jenga tower falls over and she shoves him.

 

“Fitz!” she whines. “You wrecked it!”

 

“We beat Bobbi and Hunter, I see,” Jemma says, dropping her bag on the floor and approaching the kitchen counter. Several bottles of wine and four glasses sit out invitingly. She pours herself a glass of red and moves to smell whatever Trip is making.

 

“My grandma’s recipe,” he beams at her. He raises his glass to clink it against hers. “You’re gonna love it.”

 

“I’m sure I will,” Jemma smiles. “I’ve known you for eight years now and had no idea you could cook.”

 

“Antoine Triplett, international man of mystery,” Fitz laughs, clapping his friend on the shoulder as he moves to pour himself some wine as well. “How’s it going?”

 

Trip and Fitz launch into a conversation about some video game that Jemma has no interest in, and she wanders back into the main sitting area to watch Skye begin reconstructing her Jenga tower.

 

“You know, they make a little cardboard thing for this very purpose,” Jemma points out, sipping at her wine.

 

“They do,” Skye agrees. “I lost that thing like, six years ago, so I just do it the old fashioned way.”

 

Jemma barks out a laugh. “Skye! You’re on TV. I think you can buy a new Jenga set.”

 

Skye shrugs, smirking. “Old habits, I guess. Plus, it kind of adds a whole new challenge to the game. Let’s take turns trying to build it without fucking it up. Like…reverse Jenga, if you will.”

 

Jemma looks down and frowns at the piece in her hand. “Why does this have writing on it?”

 

“Oh, because this is Truth or Jenga,” Skye grins. She looks like the cat that ate the canary. “You either answer the question, or you drink. And some of them are just straight up dares, so you either do the dare or you drink.”

 

“What are the numbers?”

 

“The amount of sips,” Skye says. “For example, I would either have to kiss the person to my left right now, or drink 5 sips.”

 

She places the tile on the stack and sits back, pleased. Jemma laughs. “So what, I don’t get a kiss?”

 

“By all means, do that,” Trip jokes from the kitchen. Fitz glares at him.

 

“Do not do that.”

 

“Spoil sport,” Jemma jokes, shooting a wink at Skye and beckoning Fitz to come sit with her. He hesitates and Jemma rolls her eyes. “We both know you’re of no help to Trip in the kitchen, Fitz.”

 

He seems resigned to this truth and approaches, plopping down on the loveseat next to her. Skye whips out her phone and aims it at them.

 

“Smile, you two!”

 

Fitz screws up his face in a grimace that is decidedly not a smile, but then Jemma reaches up to kiss his cheek. He smiles softly, looking over at her. Skye gets her picture and shouts in triumph.

 

“A picture where Fitz looks happy! Who’d have thought the day would ever come.”

 

The door swings open and Bobbi and Hunter enter.

 

“What’s up, bitches?” Hunter greets loudly. He glances over at the table. “Truth or Jenga! Nice!”

 

“Has he played this before?” Jemma asks Bobbi, gesturing at the coffee table. Skye shakes her head.

 

“Not here,” Skye answers, puzzled. Hunter pops open a beer, foregoing the wine, and pours Bobbi a glass without her asking. She smiles affectionately, shaking her head at her friends.

 

“I learned a long time ago not to ask questions,” she says. “I find it makes our relationship much easier to tolerate.”

 

The night commences with laughter and delicious food, but Jemma can’t get the Garrett situation out of her mind long enough to truly enjoy herself. Of all things, it’s Truth or Jenga that relieves the pressure and gives her the perfect opening to say something. They sit in a circle around the coffee table, some in chairs and some on the floor, and Jemma finds herself comfortably nestled between Fitz’s knees on the floor. He sits up on the couch beside Hunter, and Bobbi is to Jemma’s right.

 

Jemma plucks up a tile and reads it out loud. “What is something that you’d like to tell every person in this room?”

 

Fitz snorts and takes a long sip of his drink, letting Jemma decide whether or not this is her moment. She leans back against his legs.

 

“Well, actually, I’d hate to ruin the game here but I do have something kind of important to tell you guys before it hits the news tomorrow,” she tells them. There’s a tint of worry in her voice, and her friends all turn to stare at her in concern.

 

“What’s going on?” Bobbi speaks up first. “Are you okay?”

 

“Are you knocked up?” Hunter asks seriously. “Because between the six of us, I’m sure we could maybe raise one passable human being.”

 

This pulls a laugh out of her and she shakes her head. “No, no. It’s about my accident.”

 

Everyone sits up a little straighter.

 

“When I met up with Kara, she gave me evidence that Ward messed with my harness on purpose…but it was at the direction of John Garrett.”

 

Hunter leans over to fist bump Fitz. “We knew it, mate.”

 

Fitz eyes his fist wearily but gives in, bumping his knuckles against Hunter’s. “Not really the time,” Fitz whispers afterward.

 

“Are you serious?” Skye gasps. “Oh my god, Jemma, that’s awful.”

 

“So how are we taking him down?” Trip asks immediately. Fitz snaps and points at Trip.

 

“See, Jemma. I’m not the only one who immediately jumped to that.”

 

“At first, I was sitting on it, but apparently he tried to use my parents as a way to make what was sure to be an inaccurate biopic about my life thus far.”

 

Skye leans back on her hands, jaw open and shaking her head. “Wow, your life is seriously bananas, dude.”

 

Jemma snorts. “Yep, it certainly is that.”

 

“So now what are you going to do?” Bobbi asks. “You said you were going to sit on it but now you’re not.”

 

“Melinda is leaking the emails and correspondence I have proving that it was Garrett,” Jemma says. “I had promised to keep Ward out of it, but I don’t think I can do that anymore. Without his emails back, the picture isn’t complete and people will have their doubts.”

 

“We’re all here for you,” Bobbi assures her, putting a hand on Jemma’s leg. “If you need anything at all, please let us know.”

 

“Thank you,” Jemma smiles, leaning her head on Bobbi’s shoulder briefly. “It’s for the best and I know it. It’ll all be over soon and I can rest easy knowing that he’s ruined.”

 

Hunter sobers, his usual easygoing demeanor suddenly absent. “I’m proud of you. I know this can’t be easy.”

 

Jemma is incredibly touched by his words. “Thanks, Hunter.”

 

She takes a look around at all of the people surrounding her, the people that she’s lucky enough to call friends. Everyone sits in silence for a while, until Skye hops up and disappears into the kitchen.

 

“This has just turned from a whine night to a whiskey night, my friends,” Skye announces. “I think our girl has earned herself a good hangover.”

 

“I really have,” Jemma agrees. Fitz’s eyes widen and he dangles his phone over her shoulder, showing her the lock screen once again.

 

_CALL BACKS TOMORROW @ 9 A.M._

 

“I’ll be fine,” she tells him seriously. He gives her a look that tells her he does not believe her, and she huffs indignantly. “Really, I will.”

 

That statement is exactly why he’s being such a know-it-all a couple of hours later as he drives them both back to her place. He’d stopped drinking hours before, but Jemma had continued onward, purposefully dodging even the easiest questions and dares for an excuse to keep clinking her glass with Skye’s.

 

“I think she might be a bad influence on you,” he teases. “I’m telling you, that girl is trouble.”

 

Jemma pouts in the front seat, crossing her arms. “Maybe I’m the one who’s trouble. Ever thought of that, hm?”

 

He laughs warmly, reaching over to squeeze her knee. “Love, I know you’re trouble. That’s been clear to me since the day I met you.”

 

She bites down on a grin and peeks over at him. “Really?”

 

“Yeah, really,” he replies. “I took one look at you and I thought, _wow. This girl is about to get me into some real trouble.”_

Jemma smacks his hand lightly. “You did not.”

 

“I did!” he laughs. “Really. To be fair, I was also a seventeen year old kid trying really, really hard to not let on that kissing you was having some fairly unfortunate effects on my biology—“

 

“Ugh, Fitz!”

 

“I told you,” he smirks, picking up her hand and kissing her knuckles. “Trouble.”

 

She giggles and leans her head against the cool glass window of his car—not the Porsche, this time, something that she’s grateful for. She likes him best in this car, the one he bought when he first learned to drive in the U.S. when they were nineteen. It’s still nice—an Audi, with all the bells and whistles, but most stars wouldn’t be caught dead in a car more than two years old.

 

“I think we should live together,” she blurts out. The words tumble out like a waterfall, but she makes no attempt to take them back. Fitz slows down at a red light, turning to look at her in the lights of the city.

 

“I think we should talk about this when you haven’t been drinking,” Fitz says carefully. She immediately looks disappointed and he backpedals. “I’m not saying that I wouldn’t want that. I just think that we should have a sober conversation about this.”

 

Jemma sucks in a shuddering breath. “You’re probably right.”

 

“I know I am,” he says smugly. “Now let’s get home to poor Widge and hope to god we can get you out of bed in the morning.”

 

“I will be just fine,” Jemma says haughtily. “It’s still pre-morning.”

 

“You mean…nighttime?” Fitz laughs. “And technically, it _is_ morning.”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Jemma, it’s 2 a.m.,” he informs her. She gasps, slapping her hands on her cheeks. “Alright, Home Alone. We’re almost back. I’m sure you’ll be just fine tomorrow.”

 

She groans, leaning her head against the window and banging it against the glass a few times.

 

“I can’t believe I did this!” Jemma moans. “I’m never this irresponsible.”

 

“I tried to stop you,” Fitz reminds her. She shoots him a glare.

 

“Not the time Fitz.”

 

“Right, sorry.”

 

As soon as they get home, he deals with Widget while Jemma washes her face and gets ready for bed. He fills up several large glasses of water and makes sure she drinks two before climbing fully beneath the sheets. He finally strips out of his own clothes, falling into bed beside her. Jemma immediately curls into his side, the same way she has been nearly every single night since her accident. He runs his hands through her hair until her leg jerks out in a twitch, the obvious indication that she’s fallen asleep.

 

He drops one last kiss to her forehead and carefully moves to double check his alarm. Getting her out of bed in the morning is not going to be easy, that’s for sure.

 

***

 

Waking her in the morning hadn’t been the easiest task, but also not the hardest. It only took them about 45 minutes to get her presentable and ready, a breakfast sandwich and hot tea in hand as they pulled through the gates of the studio offices. Jemma smiles over at him fondly, brushing her hand over his neck as he parks the car.

 

“Thanks for your help, Fitz.”

 

“It’s not like you haven’t done it for me,” he replies easily. “And don’t forget, you’ve got coconut water in your bag, along with some Tylenol. Oh, and saltines.”

 

“What did I ever do to deserve you?”

 

His face softens, and he leans across the center console to kiss his lips softly, nuzzling his nose against hers. “Maybe you saved the world in a past life.”

 

“Ugh Fitz!” she exclaims, smacking his arm good-naturedly. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

 

He nods and climbs out of the car, throwing an arm around her. She leans heavily into him, her eyes drooping slightly with exhaustion. “You gonna be okay?”

 

“Oh, I’m fine,” she says bravely. “If we managed to shoot that action scene for Maveth after staying up all night at Bobbi’s birthday party, I can certainly make it through this day.”

 

He laughs at the memory; they’d both been practically dry heaving between takes. They make their way into the offices and take their seats at the table with Sharon. A long stream of actors read the same lines over and over, some standing out and the rest seemingly blending into one uber-person.

 

“I have a whole new respect for directors,” Jemma whispers between actors. She looks a little green and Fitz can’t help but feel like saying _I told you so._

He doesn’t, though, because from what he understands, being her boyfriend is a little bit different than just being her best friend. As her best friend, he can tease her and shove her mistakes in her face as much as he wants with little to no consequences. As her boyfriend, that might mean going a few hours without kissing her perfect mouth, which is a sacrifice that he’s not willing to make. Even to win an argument with her.

 

For the first time in the audition process, their note sheets look different. Jemma has starred completely different names than he has, and Jemma frowns looking over at his.

 

He hasn’t marked a single known actor, aside from Skye. She seems to be the only person they actually agree on, even though her callback audition isn’t quite as good as her first one. Jemma blames the whiskey, and Fitz is inclined to agree. Jemma and Skye had been the ones to finish off most of it on their own.

 

The auditions wrap up for the day after almost seven hours, and Sharon retreats to her office with her assistant. Jemma and Fitz do the same, and she immediately collapses into the large chair behind the desk, shaking slightly from her hangover and exhaustion.

 

“I don’t understand,” Jemma tells him. “You didn’t mark down _anyone_ with an extensive resume.”

 

Fitz sighs, looking around at all of the headshots surrounding them. “If Nick Fury had only wanted people with extensive resumes, we wouldn’t be where we are now, Jemma.”

 

“Of course we wouldn’t,” Jemma admits. “But our budget is so small, Fitz. We need big names to draw in the numbers at the box office. If we do well at this, we can have more opportunities to write and direct in the future.”

 

“See, that’s it right there,” he jumps in, twisting his wrist around in the way he always does when he’s thinking. “Our budget is small, especially for a project like this. We’ve got to allocate a lot to costumes and makeup, not to mention the FX department.”

 

“We really don’t need that many special effects.”

 

“We do,” Fitz argues. “If we want to do it right, we do.”

 

She narrows her eyes at him. “It won’t matter how nice the effects look if no one comes to see the damn thing.”

 

“We _are_ the big names now,” he reminds her, leaning his hands on the opposite side of the desk and staring her down. There’s a fire in his eyes and a piercing want strikes her center; she has to keep herself from clearing the entire desk and taking him right then and there. “We’re the ones who draw in the big numbers.”

 

“What if we aren’t enough?” she questions. She leans back further in her chair to prevent any involuntary physical responses to his current ferocity. They’ve argued like this a thousand times over the years, over everything from characterization to scene study to where they should go out to eat, but ever since they shifted from partners to _partners,_ it’s had a much different affect on her anatomy.

 

“Of course we’re enough,” he scoffs. She nearly rolls her eyes; there’s his trademark arrogance, cropping back up again. “Every trailer we do says “Three Time Oscar Winner before our names.”

 

Jemma scratches at her eyebrow, considering his words. “You may have a point.”

 

“God forbid you just let me win one,” he grouses, but there’s no fire in the words. He backs away from the desk and Jemma feels a pang of regret that his anger has subsided.

 

Who knew that one of his most annoying qualities would also be one of his most attractive? Certainly not Jemma.

 

“Without Coulson, Fury, and May, we wouldn’t have those three Oscars apiece,” he tells her sincerely. “I just—I think we have an amazing opportunity here to be those people for someone else.”

 

She has to admit that he’s right. Not a day goes by that she doesn’t wake up feeling incredibly grateful for everything that she has, and she’s under no delusions about who she has to thank for it. Despite her burdening guilt toward her parents, she knows deep down that more so than either of them, it was Melinda, Phil, and Nick Fury who created her professional life from the ground up. Her talent was icing on the cake, but there are thousands of girls just as talented as she, scraping by at waitressing jobs all over the city while they fight for their own big breaks.

 

_She sits beside Fitz on Phil’s living room floor. She clenches her hand on his knee and misses the way that he shivers. Phil and Melinda sit on the couch behind them as the Oscar nominations are read on the screen._

_Fitz runs a hand through his wild hair. “I don’t know why we’re watching this. There’s no way that we’re going to be nominated.”_

_Phil shakes his head. “You don’t know that. You saw what all the critics said.”_

_Jemma worries her lip between her bottom teeth, looking over her shoulder at Phil. “I think Fitz is right. We’re practically children. No one knows who we are.”_

_“They do now,” Melinda reminds her with a serious nod. “Sh. Your category is next.”_

_When the announcer reads Jemma’s name, the whole world stops. It takes a moment to sink in, but as soon as it does, she screams loudly and launches herself so hard at Fitz’s shoulder that he hits the ground with a loud “oomph.”_

_He hugs her back. “Oh my god.”_

_“I can’t believe it,” she whispers. “It’s…how is this…oh my god.”_

_“Get up,” Phil laughs. Jemma crawls off of Fitz with red cheeks, which only burn brighter when she realizes Phil is filming them on his camera. “It’s Fitz’s turn.”_

_Fitz shakes his head bashfully. “It won’t be me. Jemma’s probably, technically, a better actor than me.”_

_Jemma rolls her eyes and shoves him. “Oh shut up.”_

_Then Fitz’s name is read and he stares blankly at the television for a long time. His phone starts ringing, his mother’s picture staring up at him, and Jemma has to lean over to answer it._

_She’s sure she’ll never feel this euphoric ever again. It’s like a drug and she wants more and more of it._

_But most of all, she makes a secret wish that she’ll share all of these moments with the curly haired boy sitting on the carpet next to her._

 

“You’re right,” she finally says. His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline and he grins excitedly. “We’d be fools to pass this up.”

 

“So what did you think of these two?” Fitz asks eagerly, pointing at two no-name seventeen year olds who had auditioned for the younger version of their characters. “I know he’s American but he does a great Scottish, and the girl grew up down the street from where you did.”

 

“She was really good,” Jemma agrees. “They do look a fair bit like us as well.”

 

“Lucky bastard doesn’t have the damn curls though,” Fitz glowers, staring down the smooth-haired teenager. “He’s gonna have to cut that mop off.”

 

Jemma laughs and stands, running a hand over his shorn hair. She misses the curls he’d had when they first met. “I loved your hair like that, you know.”

 

“You did not.”

 

“I did!” she asserts. “You were adorable.”

 

“Adorable. Exactly what a man likes to hear.”

 

“What would you prefer?” Jemma asks, practically purring. She watches his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows hard.

 

“Rugged. Handsome. I’d accept sexy as well.”

 

Jemma makes good on her earlier train of thought, striking all of the papers from their shared desk and advancing on him until his back hits it. His eyes darken and she’s sure that the smile on her face is nearly predatory.

 

“I think I can do that,” she promises. Always one to challenge her, Fitz grabs her around the waist and spins her around, bending her back until her back hits the desk. He lifts up her legs, sliding her along the smooth wood and scrambling on top of her.

 

She reaches up to grab him around the neck, pressing her lips to his hotly and receiving a gasp in response. Grinning, she makes quick work of the buttons on his shirt. He’s eternally grateful that she’d opted for a sensible shift dress for the day, feeling incapable that morning of putting together two matching pieces. He hikes her dress up around her waist and slips his hand between her legs, groaning when she pulls away from his lips to choke out a moan.

 

It all happens incredibly quickly, Jemma coming apart underneath him and then regaining the upper hand after catching her breath. She flips them over, nearly rolling them off of the desk in the process. In the process of pulling his slacks down, she manages to reach into his pocket for his wallet, finding the condom hidden inside with ease. She rips it open and rolls it on in one smooth motion, taking a huge amount of pride in how heavily he breathes beneath her.

 

She sinks down on him with a gasp of her own and he groans loudly, so much so that Jemma has to reach over and put a hand over his mouth. It may be the evening, but the studio offices are still teeming with overworked interns and harried executives. ‘

 

He nips at her fingers over his mouth and reaches up to tug her dress over her head. His movements are sporadic and jerky, constantly interrupted by the waves of pleasure that strike him every time she rolls her hips.

 

His hands find her breasts and then so does his mouth, her hand falling to the desk to brace herself. She nearly has to cover her own mouth and, a few minutes later, she finds herself quieting both of their shouts by pressing her mouth firmly against his.

 

They’re both sweaty and disheveled, their belongings scattered all over their office floor. Fitz looks up at her, dazed and sated.

 

“I really, really like being right,” he sighs, falling back against the wood of the desk. He bangs his head and whines, causing Jemma to giggle. She lays down over him for just a moment, just long enough to snatch his keys from where they’ve fallen on the chair beside the desk. She rolls off of him under the pretense of looking for her underwear.

 

While she hides under the desk, she slips her house key off of his key ring and places it inside her bra.

 

“Shall we?” she asks when she pops back up. “I can send the list to Sharon from home.”

 

He nods, still pliant and practically trembling from their workplace tryst. They make themselves as presentable as they can and leave the office holding hands. She tosses him the keys to her car, since he’d driven them in it that morning, and swears that a group of interns that eyes Fitz every time he walks by titters with giggles as they pass.

 

Jemma shoots them a cocky little smirk. Let them laugh. She’s the one sleeping with Leo Fitz.


	24. Inimitable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The emails incriminating Garrett are leaked, only causing more problems for Jemma. Meanwhile, she enlists Bobbi's help for a surprise for Fitz. At Natasha Romanoff's suggestion, Jemma grants her first interview regarding the fall in hopes that she can finally move on.

_SHOCKER: DIRECTOR JOHN GARRETT RESPONSIBLE FOR JEMMA SIMMONS’ LIFE THREATENING ACCIDENT_

_Shocking allegations surfaced late last night. Melinda May, manager of Oscar winner Jemma Simmons, released a series of emails between film director John Garrett and stuntman Grant Ward. Additional documents indicate that the two men conspired to injure Jemma Simmons while she was filming an improperly shot scene for Maveth, which premiered recently to great critical acclaim._

_The emails blatantly show Garrett’s involvement in the accident. While motive remains unclear, Hollywood insiders shared that Simmons and Leo Fitz, 25, replaced John Garrett in_ SHIELD Studio’s _independent picture lineup slated for next year._

 

Jemma stops reading, tossing the paper aside and sifting through the next gossip magazine. She’s surrounded by them, all hand-delivered by a Melinda May approved courier that morning. Fitz had left shortly after 8 a.m., off to a cast breakfast with some of the actors from Mary Sue.

 

He had texted her after arriving at the restaurant to let her know that her house is already swarming with photographers and reporters waiting to get the inside scoop. This is exactly what she’d been afraid of; a story this juicy won’t just disappear in a few days, the way that dating rumors do. This is a story of attempted murder and intrigue, and both the public and the poor journalists who somehow wound up following around famous people for a living want to know everything about it.

 

She doesn’t really blame them. It’s a big money story and so she can’t completely fault them for crowding the gate at the end of her driveway. Regardless, it’s still quite a hindrance. Jemma would love to leave the house today, and if Widget’s restlessness is any indication, so would she.

 

“Sorry, Widge,” Jemma sighs, patting her little dog on the head. “It doesn’t seem like we’re going anywhere today.”

 

All Jemma can really hope for is that Bobbi managed to complete the task she’d given her just before the story broke. More than that, she really hopes that Bobbi can make it to her house through the sea of reporters and photographers hoping to catch a shot of Jemma.

 

They’ll be satisfied with some shots of Bobbi, the same way they’d been all too eager to get some photos of Fitz leaving her house that morning.

 

Well, _their_ house, soon. She hopes.

 

Worrying her lip between her teeth, she grabs her phone off of the couch and shoots out a text to Bobbi, asking if there’s any ETA for her arrival. Then she sends a text to Fitz, asking him if he can swing by his apartment to grab a book she’d leant him nearly three years before. She’s sure he’ll be confused by that one (given that she’d happily given it away—she hated it, and they’d both ended up turning down the film adaptation anyway).

 

Regardless, he texts her back immediately saying he’ll bring it to her, and she’s pleased with herself that she managed to buy some time. Face to face, she never would have sold him on it, but the medium of text allowed her to be slightly more convincing. She checks Joey Gutierrez’s Snap Chat story, finding a slightly annoyed Fitz eating an omelet about twenty minutes before.

 

“Perfect,” she says to Widget. “He must still be at the restaurant. Bobbi will have plenty of time, if she would just text me ba—“

 

She doesn’t even finish her sentence when her phone vibrates with a message from her friend. Jemma eagerly opens it.

 

_[Bobbi:] Be there in fifteen. I brought my pap hat and everything._

Jemma snorts. Bobbi has always subscribed to the idea that wearing a baseball hat and aviator sunglasses will somehow make her less recognizable. It’s a look that had become particularly popular when Steve Rogers had taken to it in the early days of his stardom—she’s seen countless celebrities do it since.

 

Jemma busies herself with scrolling through press request after press request in her email and responding to a request from Phil and Melinda to meet with Natasha Romanoff for damage control. She’s never been a fan of using PR people, preferring to just let Melinda handle her press on her own, but if Melinda doesn’t think she can do this one—well, then Jemma supposes she’ll see what Natasha thinks their next steps should be. She sends an email to this affect and, about three minutes later, Bobbi strolls through the door in a hat and sunglasses.

 

“Here you go,” Bobbi grins, tossing the metal object in her hand across the living room. Jemma clumsily misses it and her friend laughs. “God, your coordination has not improved a bit.”

 

Jemma glares at her teasingly. “Did anyone see you’?”

 

“Of course they saw me,” Bobbi says wryly. She takes off the hat and shakes out her hair. “There’s got to be at least forty cameras out there.”

 

“I may have been a bit hasty in my decision making,” Jemma admits sheepishly.

 

“Yeah, it may have been best to disappear before having Melinda leak everything,” Bobbi shrugs. “But hey, what’s done is done. Plus, you’ve got work to do here. It’s not like you can just go full Into The Wild or whatever.”

 

Without really acknowledging Bobbi’s statement, Jemma stares at the key in her palm and then looks up at Bobbi. “Do you think he’s going to say yes?”

 

The look Bobbi shoots her should tell Jemma everything she needs to know, but Bobbi has been friends with her long enough to know that a mere facial expression won’t sate Jemma’s need for confirmation.

 

“Of course he is,” Bobbi says seriously. “He asked you first, remember?”

 

“Well, yes, but then I said _no,_ and…”

 

“You didn’t really say no,” Bobbi reminds her. “At least not the way I heard the story. The two of you practically live together anyway and you always kind of have. Might as well just go for it, right?”

 

“Have you and Hunter thought about it?” Jemma asks. “Moving in together?”

 

Bobbi shrugs awkwardly, looking away in an obvious sign of discomfort. Jemma frowns. “I just don’t really think I’m the long-term commitment type.”

 

“You love Hunter,” Jemma says, as though Bobbi doesn’t already know this.

 

“Of course I do,” Bobbi confirms. “But that doesn’t mean that I will forever, or that he’ll love me forever and—I don’t know. I don’t really have any interest in trying to divide up a bunch of shit after everything goes to hell, ya know?”

 

Jemma’s eyes widen in a panic. “Oh no. You’re completely right. If something goes wrong it’s not just breaking up. Then there’s the moving out and the dividing of things and what about poor Widget? How would she feel?”

 

Bobbi shakes her head and puts her hands on Jemma’s shoulders. “Jem, c’mon. That was _me_ I was talking about, not you. The two of you have been best friends for your entire adult lives, alright? You have the most stable relationship I’ve ever seen. Hunter and I—we’re, well, Hunter and I. That’s not you and Fitz. The two of you are going to be just fine.”

 

“Do you really think so?”

 

Bobbi smiles, nose crinkling in genuine happiness. “I really do. I’m happy for you guys. And you’ll have to text me a picture of his face when you ask.”

 

Jemma laughs. “I doubt he’d even let me take a picture of him, after the amount he’ll have to deal with just getting inside.”

 

“Speaking of,” Bobbi interjects. She picks up her hat and shoves it back on top of her blonde hair. “We can talk about my many commitment problems at a later date. I don’t want to be here when he gets back and ruin your big moment.”

 

Jemma smiles nervously and moves to hug Bobbi quickly. “Thank you for doing this for me.”

 

“Yeah, well, with the whole Jemma Simmons Attempted Murder story going on right now, I doubt any tabloid is going to pick up a Bobbi Morse Key Story. Besides, the guy at Home Depot seemed pretty sold on my disguise.”

 

Jemma raises her eyebrows doubtfully. “Really?”

 

Bobbi deflates. “No. The brown wig was better.”

 

“The brown wig was _weird,”_ Jemma argues. Bobbi opens her mouth to argue back and then puts her hands up.

 

“We’re not doing this. Text me later, tell me how it goes.”

 

“Thank you again!” Jemma calls as Bobbi is half way out the door. Bobbi shoots her a smile over her shoulder with a little nod, and then the front door closes. Jemma hears the lock click with Bobbi’s key and then settles in to wait for Fitz to return.

 

Widget circles around her feet, obviously disappointed to not be leaving the house yet again.

 

“This sucks, doesn’t it?” Jemma murmurs in commiseration with her pet. She stands and begins shuffling some of her furniture to create a bit more open space, retrieving one of Widget’s miniature tennis balls. “I know we don’t play ball in the house, but I think you’ve earned this one.”

 

Widget wiggles her entire body, clearly excited to have something to do. It works for both of them. The repetitive motion of tossing the ball across the room each time Widget retrieves it not only helps with Widget’s stir crazy behavior, but it also keeps Jemma’s mind off of the impending question she’ll be asking Fitz in just half an hour or so, if her estimate is correct.

 

She’s so focused on directing all of her energy on playing fetch with her dog that she misses the doorknob rattling and the desperate sound of keys clinking just on the other side of the wood.

 

“Fucking hell.”

 

She does hear that, an unmistakable voice cursing loudly at her front door. Widget does too, and the ball falls out of her mouth as though she’s shocked by Fitz’s profanity. Jemma would laugh if her stomach wasn’t suddenly in knots, and she rushes for the door to let him in.

 

“Jemma!” he practically shouts, shutting the door behind him and locking it quickly. He starts looking around, prowling her living space. “Why is everything moved? Was someone in here?”

 

Jemma frowns. “Are you insinuating I had another man over?”

 

“What?” Fitz scoffs. “No. I lost my key, somehow. It’s not on my ring and with everything going on—we need to call a locksmith. Right now.”

 

“Fitz—“

 

He puts his hands on the back of his neck. “I’m really sorry, Jemma. I don’t know how this happened. Thank God you’re alright.”

 

Widget scratches eagerly at his shoes, trying to get his attention. The fact that he doesn’t reach down to pick her up immediately is a true restatement to how worked up he is.

 

“Fitz!”

 

“With all of those paparazzi out there, not to mention you’ve probably got some kind of target on your back from Garrett’s goons.”

 

“What goons?” she asks, biting back an amused smile. She feels a bit guilty for working him into this state, but she can’t help but find it all rather adorable.

 

“His goons, Jemma!” he declares emphatically. When he whirls around to stare at her incredulously, just as she knew he would, she holds out her hand. The key sits in her palm. He blinks rapidly, looking between the key and her face. “You had it?”

 

“I took it,” she admits with a little grimace. Before he can start berating her or asking her too many questions, she presses forward. “I know that when you suggested it, I wasn’t really—well, I wasn’t sure that _we_ were ready. But I am now, and I think we both are. We picked out this house together and—well, so did Penny. This is the closest thing to home we’ve both had since we came to L.A., and I want you to live here with me.”

 

His face softens and he steps forward to gently remove the key from her hand. He grins crookedly when he notes the slight change to the silver, his thumb dancing over the engraved word.

**H O M E**

He tucks her hair behind one ear and bends down to kiss her. She takes this as tacit consent to her plan, reaching her arms around his neck to deepen the kiss. He stumbles forward, fully intent on laying her down on the couch. With her racing pulse and the euphoria of the fact that he said yes, she completely forgets about having moved the furniture around.

 

They collapse onto the ground, her head whacking against the hardwood floor with a resounding thud. Fitz’s wrist bends awkwardly and he yelps, rolling off of her and weakly attempting to pat her head.

 

“Romantic,” he says dryly. Jemma giggles and, despite the dull ache on the back of her skull, rolls onto her side to kiss his cheek.

 

“It’s perfect.”

 

She collapses back onto the floor beside him, staring up at the ceiling. He reaches over and links their fingers.

 

“Home,” he says quietly.

 

She turns her head to smile at him. “Home.”

 

***

 

Natasha, Phil, and Melinda show up at her house in the evening, with no-nonsense expressions on their faces. To be fair, Jemma has _never_ seen Natasha Romanoff look like any kind of nonsense is acceptable.

 

“Jemma,” she greets crisply. She marches past her and takes a seat on one of Jemma’s couches as though she owns the place. Jemma briefly thinks that perhaps she does and her own name being on the mortgage is some kind of mistake.

 

“Natasha,” Jemma says, hoping to maintain the same level of professionalism that the other woman has. “It’s good to see you.”

 

Natasha gives her a small smile and begins laying out some papers on the coffee table. “You too. Wish it was under better circumstances.”

 

Phil grins. “We never see you when circumstances are good.”

 

Natasha shakes her head, amused. “No one ever does. So let’s get straight to it, shall we?”

 

Fitz lingers in the doorway, bare feet shuffling back and forth, and Jemma waves him in. He takes a seat on the arm of her chair, one hand bracing him on the other side of her shoulders.

 

“Yes, let’s.”

 

“We need to get ahead of this thing,” Natasha says. “The longer that we wait to make a statement, the worse it’s going to get. They’re going to start digging around for other stuff.”

 

“I don’t have anything to hide,” Jemma insists.

 

Natasha raises her eyebrows. “Nothing that happened at the studio offices in the past week?”

 

Fitz nearly falls off of the chair and Jemma makes a startled choking noise. Melinda raises her eyebrows, indicating that while she may be on to them, she has no interest in knowing what they got up to. Phil shakes his head rapidly.

 

“No,” he says firmly. “They hold hands and that’s it.”

 

“If that’s what the kids are calling it these days,” Natasha remarks wryly.

 

“Well, uh, so, um—“ Fitz stutters. “How would we….get in front of it?”

 

“An interview,” Natasha answers simply. “You give someone the exclusive, all of the other news outlets cover your interview for a week, and then it’s all over.”

 

“But—“

 

“News sources are all just truncated versions of each other,” Natasha interrupts, anticipating Jemma’s argument. “Trust me. If you give a good enough interview the first time, you won’t have to do it again.”

 

Jemma leans back heavily in her chair. His earlier embarrassment is immediately forgotten in the wake of her hesitation to discuss her traumatic experience, and one of his hands immediately goes to her hair. No one comments on the blatant affection, and she’s grateful for it.

 

“I don’t know if I can do it. Even once.”

 

“We’ll find someone you’re comfortable with,” Natasha assures her with a surprising amount of gentleness. “None of us want to put you in a bad position, but you’re kind of already in one.”

 

“Is it possible to be comfortable with a reporter?” Fitz asks derisively. Jemma elbows him for his rudeness but Natasha smiles wanly.

 

A brief flash of being slightly tipsy and shooting for vogue pops into her head. The article that had been done, written by someone named Hannah or other, had been one of her favorites she’d ever been featured in. The photos had been stunning, sure, but it was the writing that had really spoken to her.

 

Hannah hadn’t left anything out. She didn’t twist Jemma’s words or wrench them out of their context to fit what she herself needed. Instead, she’d taken Jemma for what she was, where she was, and made something out of her.

 

“I ask myself that question all the time. We’ll go with one of the best. Ben Urich, maybe, or—“

 

“I love Ben,” Jemma interrupts. “Don’t get me wrong, I do, but he has more readership than just about anyone else. I think I have someone in mind.”

 

“Who?” Melinda asks, jumping into the conversation for the first time.

 

“Do you remember Hannah?” Jemma replies. “She did my Vogue interview.”

 

Melinda nods slowly, recognition dawning on her face. “She’s young blood, but she’s got chops.”

 

Phil mumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like a 1940s style imitation of May, but he’s not dumb enough to speak loud enough to be heard.

 

“Ben has plenty of people reading his work,” Jemma reasons. “Hannah is new at this, and she doesn’t seem like she wants to be at Vogue forever. I’d like to give her a story that might open up her options.”

 

Fitz whips his head to look at her, grinning slightly. “Oh, so you’d like to help get her a big break?”

 

She rolls her eyes fondly and smacks his knee. “Yes. Something like that.”

 

Natasha exchanges a look with Phil and then nods. “If this is how you’re most comfortable, then I’ll send her to your house tomorrow.”

 

Now Jemma’s eyes widen. “Tomorrow? Here?”

 

“Well, you can’t exactly leave,” Natasha informs her. “Those photographers aren’t going anywhere anytime soon. I would suggest staying here until everything dies down.”

 

She sighs a bit miserably. Something in May’s face softens and it makes Jemma feel slightly better. These small moments of assurance that May truly does care for her always shift her perspective.

 

“Okay, yes. We’ll have Hannah come here tomorrow in the evening.”

 

“Photographer in the afternoon,” Natasha negotiates. Jemma clearly grimaces and Natasha shrugs apologetically. “Sorry, but there’s gotta be some photos.”

 

“We’ll make a thing out of it,” Phil suggests. “Invite over the whole crew, almost like a party. Take some of the pressure off.”

 

“Phil—“ Natasha begins. He holds up a hand.

 

“I know you’re here to consult and we appreciate the help, but ultimately, this is our show.”

 

May turns to Jemma, the only one to really include her in the conversation. “It’s your call. Whatever you think would be better for you.”

 

She takes a moment to roll over the idea in her brain. Having Bobbi there might be a comfort—after all, her friend had accompanied her to some of her scariest shoots and interviews over the course of her career. Hunter can always make her laugh. Skye and Trip light up every room they’re in. And having Fitz there—well, she doesn’t even need to justify that to herself. With or without the others, he’ll need to be there. He’s her anchor and she knows she can’t do it without him.

 

“I think Phil has a point,” Jemma decides. “We’ll have them over, make it a small gathering. I think it’ll feel more conversational for me that way.”

 

While Natasha doesn’t seem entirely pleased with Jemma’s choice, she also doesn’t seem particularly surprised or upset by it, either. “Alright. You said Hannah with Vogue?”

 

“Hannah Hutchins,” May fills in, waving her iPhone at them. “Google.”

 

Fitz snorts and slaps his knees. “Alright. So that’s that, then.”

 

“I guess it is,” Natasha smiles. “Phil, Mel, walk me out?”

 

As soon as the door shuts behind them, Fitz looks at her indignantly. “See, Natasha gets to call her Mel but when I do it—“

 

“I can’t believe she even lets us call her Melinda,” Jemma talks over him. “Remember how long that took?”

 

She begins shuffling up the stairs, Fitz right in step behind her. Widget trudges sleepily in their wake, and Fitz bends down to pick her up.

 

“What was it, two years?”

 

“Just about,” Jemma laughs. Despite their attempts to maintain a lightness in the mood, it’s obvious that her heart isn’t in it. As soon as they reach the bedroom, Fitz deposits Widget on the bed and turns Jemma to face him, gently prodding her until he can look her in the eyes.

 

“Hey,” he tells her quietly. “If you don’t want to do it, we won’t do it.”

 

“I do have to do it,” she reminds him. “Natasha had a point, Fitz. There’s a reason she’s the top publicist in the business.”

 

He signs and nods, tucking her hair behind her ear. “It’s just—you’ve hardly talked about it with anyone, Jemma. I don’t want this to make anything worse for you.”

 

“I’m basically on house arrest even when I’m not the one who tried to kill someone,” Jemma scoffs. “I think it’s a bit hard to get worse at this point, Fitz.”

 

“Well, we’ll need to be able to get out of here soon,” he smiles. He bends down to drop a kiss to her lips and she marvels in the way a simple gesture can melt the stress from her shoulders. When he pulls back, she looks up at him in amusement.

 

“And what do we need to leave for? I know plenty of activities we can do here.”

 

Fitz rolls his eyes, biting back a smirk. “Well, we are making this little movie right now. It’s called Inevitable, you might have heard of it.”

 

“Hmm,” Jemma teases, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I heard it’s not that great anyway.”

 

“Nah,” he disagrees, playing along. “See, it’s starring someone really magnificent—“

 

Jemma giggles, the lightness of their earlier moment on the floor of the living room returning to her chest. “Oh, Fitz—“

 

“—Leo Fitz, obviously.”

 

“Oh. Okay.”

 

She shuts him up the best way she knows how. She’s not sure how she used to win arguments before they got together—probably only from sheer, unadulterated grit and determination. Jemma is glad to have a far more pleasurable way of getting him to side with her now. Her hands slide up his t-shirt and she feels his breath hitch in her mouth. Grinning into him, she starts tugging up the fabric, but he halts her hands.

 

“What?” she asks, concerned. “Is…something wrong?”

 

“No, no,” he assures her. He glances over at Widget. “It’s just…can we maybe kick her out for this part?”

 

Jemma barks out a laugh and picks up poor Widget, depositing her dog on one of her many beds—this one in the hallway across from Jemma’s bedroom. She comes back to the bedroom and shuts the door.

 

“Now, is that better?” she asks with her hands on her hips.

 

He frowns. “But I know she’s out there.”

 

Jemma throws her hands up. “Ugh, Fitz!”

 

“Well now I just feel bad!” he yelps indignantly. “Out there all on her lonesome, wondering why we’ve abandoned her to the elements.”

 

“You are the most dramatic person I’ve ever met,” she deadpans. She turns on her heel and opens the door, finding Widget already standing right in front of her. The dog races into the room and leaps onto the bed, immediately taking up her usual spot.

 

“That is why they pay me the big bucks,” Fitz jokes. He looks between Widget and Jemma. “So. Moment’s probably gone, huh?”

 

Jemma laughs, walking past him toward the bathroom and patting his chest. “Oh yes, Fitz. The moment is over.”

 

He shrugs easily. “Well, it’s not as if we’re short of moments now.”

 

He says it casually, so confident in his words. It’s something she never thought she’d hear from him. After she’d finally caught up to his feeling for her, she had been operating under the assumption that he would doubt her affections for him. But he trusts her, so unequivocally with every piece of him, and that alone feels like her greatest accomplishment to date.

 

 _Forget the trophies on the mantel_ , she thinks as she stands beside him at the sink brushing their teeth. _This is the whole point._

***

 

The photographer is quick, and Jemma is eternally grateful for that. Fitz makes himself scarce, remaining downstairs while the photographer snaps some pictures of Jemma lying in bed with Widget looking angsty. She purposefully chooses one of the guest rooms. Her bedroom—well, now her and Fitz’s room, technically—is private and personal. Having any portraits taken in her home feels strange, but her actual bedroom is a line she isn’t willing to cross. Besides, the photographer insists that the all-white look of the guest room is perfect for the photos.

 

They take some final pictures of her out on the balcony just as the sun sets, gazing out over the Hollywood Hills with the wind blowing bits of hair in front of her face. He leaves directly afterward, and she has only a few moments until Bobbi and Hunter come through the door with her arms full of bags.

 

“What’s all this?” Jemma asks wearily. “I swear if you say Truth or Jenga—“

 

Bobbi snorts. “I just wasn’t sure how much stuff you had here, and who knows when you’ll be able to leave.”

 

“It’s a supply run,” Hunter shrugs. “A bit like preparing for the apocolypse, only in this case it’s a bunch of celebrities holed up in a house.”

 

“That’s definitely a movie,” Bobbi comments. “What movie is that?”

 

“No, it was a show.”

 

“Definitely a movie,” Bobbi fires back. Hunter huffs, and the two of them launch into a pointless argument that Fitz or Jemma could easily end on their behalf but choose not to.

 

They set about unloading the many bags of snacks, produce, wine, and other goodies that Bobbi brought with her.

 

“Thank you, Bobbi,” Fitz says gratefully as he puts a couple of steaks into the freezer. “We’d probably have starved without you.”

 

“I think you could figure something out, but I appreciate the melodrama,” Bobbi smiles. A knock on the door indicates the arrival of Skye and Trip, who stand beside Phil and Melinda.

 

“Are we eating?” Skye asks in confusion. “Cause we just ate dinner.”

 

Jemma hides her face so that no one will see her poorly disguised efforts at hiding a laugh. Trip looks rather dazed—Phil must have finally given him the fatherly talk. While Phil may not be the largest man, and could definitely not best Trip in any kind of physical contest, he’s incredibly well-connected and respected.

 

One call from Phil Coulson, and Antoine Triplett could be done for in Hollywood.

 

Obviously, Phil had played that card. Melinda’s clothing indicates that she’d gone with them, and Jemma once again has the fleeting thought that her managers have something going on between the two of them.

 

Hannah arrives last, and by the time she gets to the house, the little gathering is in full swing. Phil is rolling out homemade pizza dough for those of them that hadn’t gone to dinner, making bad jokes in a poor Italian accent while Skye moans and groans in embarrassment. Melinda pretends to not be bemused by the whole thing, and Trip eventually begins to look less traumatized. Bobbi and Hunter bicker, but make for surprisingly good help in the kitchen. Fitz opens up a few bottles of merlot and they all sip on glasses.

 

Jemma nearly forgets that Hannah is coming at all. It feels like any normal, pleasant night spent with her friends. But then the blonde does arrive, recorder and notepad in hand. Jemma does her best not to look too disappointed, and reaches out to give the writer a one-armed hug.

 

“Oh!” Hannah says in surprise. “Nice to see you again, Miss Simmons.”

 

“Please,” Jemma waves her off. “It’s Jemma. Would you like some merlot? Pizza, maybe? It’s not quite done yet, but it’s going to be delicious.”

 

“Prosciutto and buffalo mozzarella,” Fitz supplements from the other side of the room. “My personal favorite, if I’m honest.”

 

Hunter rolls his eyes. “You don’t have to kiss her ass anymore. She’s already letting you….well, kiss her ass.”

 

Bobbi smacks him and Fitz just shoots him a warning look before turning to Hannah. “Please don’t put that in your article. I’m Fitz, by the way.”

 

Hannah stares at him for a long moment. “I knew that. Obviously.”

 

He blushes, scratching at the back of his neck. “Right. You think I’d have gotten used to that by now.”

 

Hannah wiggles her recorder and nods toward the living room. “What do you think? Should we get this over with?”

 

Jemma sucks in a deep breath and nods. “Yes, let’s get going. Fitz will be joining us, if that’s alright.”

 

If this shocks Hannah, she doesn’t show it. “Not a problem. And I can keep that off the record, if you’d like.”

 

Jemma meets Fitz’s gaze and they have a wordless conversation for a beat before Jemma turns back to Hannah. “No, it’s fine. You can include it, if you want to for some reason.”

 

Jemma settles into the loveseat, Fitz sliding in easily beside her and throwing an arm on the back of the chair. Hannah perches on the couch facing them, fiddling with the device and laying it on the coffee table between them.

 

Then the interview begins, first with easy questions like what she’s been up to and how pre-production of their project is going. Jemma knows these are softballs, being lobbed at her to get her warmed up and comfortable, but Hannah is good at her job. It feels like talking to a friend, and so when the real questions come, she isn’t fully prepared.

 

“So, your fall. I can’t even imagine what that was like. What’s the last thing you remember?”

 

Jemma’s mouth goes dry and she takes a sip of wine, setting the glass aside with a trembling hand before answering. “The last thing I remember is looking up toward the sky. I was grabbing at my belt, trying to find where I was supposed to be attached. And then I blacked out.”

 

Hannah nods encouragingly. “What were you thinking?”

 

Jemma considers this carefully. “You know, I’m not sure. I was thinking of something, I’m sure—probably just a panicked stream of thinking _I’m going to die this way._ But I honestly couldn’t really tell you what my thoughts were.”

 

“And when you woke up, where were you?”

 

“I was at the hospital by then,” Jemma explains “I woke up because Fitz just _would not_ stop talking—“

 

Her diversion to humor doesn’t go unnoticed, and Fitz gives her shoulder a supportive squeeze despite the teasing glare he shoots her way. “Oh come on. That speech could have been written by a master.”

 

“A speech?”

 

“He was giving me a speech,” Jemma laughs. She sobers when she thinks about exactly why that was. “It was—well, the doctors weren’t one hundred percent sure if I would wake up, and if I did, what the damage might be.”

 

“And has there been any damage?”

 

“No,” Jemma says, shaking her head. “Not that I can tell at least. Once the initial injuries healed, which took about a month, I’ve been feeling much better now.”

 

Fitz tenses and Jemma puts a hand on his knee. Obviously the injuries aren’t something he likes to think about. She’s not the biggest fan of it either, but she’s also never watched the tape. Fitz has.

 

Bobbi’s head pops out from the kitchen, smiling brightly with obvious worry in her eyes. “How’s it going out here? Anyone need anything?”

 

“We’re good, thanks,” Jemma says. Fitz nods in agreement, but Bobbi still studies them both for a second before slipping away once more. Hannah smiles kindly.

 

“She seems like a good friend.”

 

“One of the best you could ask for,” Jemma says candidly. “I’m incredibly lucky, to have found all of these incredible people in my life.”

 

Hannah brings the questions back to the fall. They go over nearly every aspect of it, and Jemma can anticipate the moments that will have Fitz particularly on edge. Likewise, Fitz begins rubbing little circles on her shoulder whenever a challenging question is asked.

 

The interview doesn’t last all that long—maybe 40 minutes, with some interruptions from her friends. Skye keeps coming in to offer more wine, carefully examining the situation. Melinda overhears some of the tougher questions and blatantly challenges whether or not Hannah should be asking them. Hunter and Trip crack jokes from the kitchen and eventually even come out to lighten the mood after a brief crying fit, just before Hannah is on her way out the door to head back to her office.

 

“It’s past 8:00,” Fitz tells her.

 

She grins, shaking her head. “I know. But this is my first piece of the New York Times, and they want to run it tomorrow morning.”

 

“Tomorrow?” Jemma gasps. “That soon?”

 

“You have to get on the story while it’s hot,” Hannah says. “And right now, you’re the hottest story.”

 

Jemma flinches and so does Hannah.

 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Hannah breathes. “I’m so sorry about what happened to you. You have to know that—“

 

“Relax,” Fitz interrupts. “Trust me, she has made far worse missteps than that.”

 

Jemma huffs out a little laugh and embraces Hannah once again. “He’s not wrong. Drive safely, please, and of course send me a copy of the article to my email in the morning.”

 

“Absolutely,” Hannah agrees. “Sorry, again. I didn’t mean—“

 

“Hannah, please.”

 

The reporter nods quickly and dashed out of the door, leaving them on their own once again. At least, briefly. Skye appears to drag them to the table for pizza, and over the course of several hours, Jemma forgets all about the interview.

 

 

***

 

The next morning, Jemma wakes to an email from Hannah with a link to an article. The email reads:

 

_Jemma,_

_I hope I did you and your story justice. Thank you for giving me this opportunity. Your courage and your strength inspire me._

  * _Hannah_



Slightly choked up, Jemma clicks on the link on her iPad screen, letting Fitz read over her shoulder from his position spooning her. His warmth grounds her as she begins reading the harrowing details of her near-death experience and the ramifications of it on her life.

 

Hannah doesn’t discuss Garrett much, just briefly touching on a few vague references to how Jemma discovered what had happened. Jemma wonders why that is, when technically it is Garrett’s big story, not Jemma’s. After all, she’s not the one who tried to kill someone on a movie set.

 

Then she reaches the end, and she understands. Hot tears burn at her eyes, but she feels no pain, simply an overwhelming gratitude for the words Hannah has chosen to include.

 

_You may have noticed that John Garrett doesn’t feature prominently in this story. That’s because this story does not belong to him._

_This story, just like everything else in her life, belongs solely to Jemma Simmons. It is obvious to me, sitting in her living room and talking to her as if we’ve been friends for years, that this experience has done nothing to shake her confidence, her drive, or her apparent love for her career._

_The glint of Oscars on the mantel behind them doesn’t seem to phase Jemma and Fitz. One might think, at first look, that this is a carefully constructed act for the two of them, but it is obvious after just a few minutes that this is their reality. I am a guest in their home, and they treat me as one rather than a reporter sent to invade an incredibly private moment in her life._

_They are surrounded by their friends, as well as their managers, who seem more like the group’s exasperated parents than colleagues. It felt less like being in a room of Hollywood’s Finest and more like sitting in on a family meeting. Bobbi Morse kept checking in with Jemma throughout the interview process, Skye Johnson dashed back and forth refilling drinks, Melinda May studied her every expression and cut in when she felt that perhaps my questions were too much. Meanwhile, Leo Fitz sat, relaxed and calm, with his arm around Jemma as she told her story, becoming visibly upset at times. She sensed it every time without looking at him, putting a hand on his knee as she spoke. Antoine Triplett and Lance Hunter provided some comic relief for the evening and Phil Coulson made a pizza. In my short time as a Hollywood reporter, I’ve never seen anything like it and I doubt I will again._

_John Garrett may have tried to break her, but he underestimated two key things: Jemma Simmons, and the people who love her._

_It’s not hard to see why they do. She is truly inimitable._

“I’m not sure I can pronounce that last word,” Fitz says gruffly into her neck. “But it’s true, you know. All of that is true.”

 

She nods rapidly, not sure that she’s fully capable of speech quite yet. He gently removes the tablet from her hands, setting it aside. Jemma turns around to bury herself in his warm, bare chest. One of his hands slides down her back, rubbing it soothingly.

 

“I’ve got a happier email in my box,” Fitz tells her. “I saw it this morning, from Sharon.”

 

Jemma’s head snaps up, all thoughts of her own disaster behind her. “Really? What was it?”

 

He smirks. “The confirmed casting list. Well, the casting offers at least, assuming everyone accepts.”

 

Jemma sits up straight, scrambling over him to retrieve the iPad and typing in her code quickly. “Of course they’ll accept. You wait until now to tell me?!”

 

“You have the email,” he mumbles into his pillow. “I’ve always been under the assumption you could read.”

 

“So sharp for the morning,” she observes wryly. She opens up the email and scans it eagerly.

 

There are very few changes to Jemma and Fitz’s proposed cast list, but the first one that catches her eye has her grinning widely.

 

_Chloe……………..Skye Johnson_

It’s hard to believe that not too long ago, she’d been lying in this bed crying over a perceived relationship between Fitz and Skye. Now here she is, with him in bed beside her and Skye cast as a lead role in their brainchild film.

 

“So?” he finally asks.

 

“It’s perfect,” she sighs happily. She sinks back into bed and tugs him closer. She feels Widget squirm near their feet and she laughs.

 

“Hey,” he murmurs suddenly. “What are we going to do with my apartment?”

 

Jemma contemplates this. It had been the place of their reconciliation, after she’d returned from filming Hydra, and for some reason she doesn’t have it in her to let it go.

 

“Perhaps we can keep it,” she suggests. “As an office, or something. Or maybe we can finally talk your mum into moving out here.”

 

Fitz grins, rubbing his nose against hers. “Alright, we’ll keep it. Besides, I pretty much figured none of my furniture would make its way over here.”

 

“Oh, it was definitely going to fall off of the truck,” Jemma confirms. He reaches out to tickle her, and through her peels of laughter, Jemma feels like all of those things that Hannah said about her.

 

She is incredibly loved. She is incredibly grateful.

 

And she is unstoppable.


	25. Ready For This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz and Jemma pack up his apartment and have a housewarming party. In the process of unpacking, Fitz reveals part of their separation that surprises Jemma. 
> 
> And finally, the first steps of production for Inevitable begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, everyone. Here it is. The end of the Hollywood AU.
> 
> I just want to say such a genuine thank you to everyone who has supported this fic, and me, throughout this whole process. I can't believe I wrote 120,000 words of fic, and that so many people have loved every bit of it. 
> 
> I wouldn't have been able to do this without all of the love and support that I received. Thank you, and thank you for reading. 
> 
> Keep on the lookout for the one-shot series of this AU, as well as the Huntingbird spin-off of it (which, unlike Most Wanted, won't get cancelled). 
> 
> Thanks again, everyone. Love to each and every one of you.

Fitz watches in amusement as Jemma lowers the empty cardboard box on top of herself, Widget trapped on her lap. A small whine comes from the dog and he can hear Jemma laughing. He whips out his phone just as Jemma asks the dog a question.

 

“Where are we, Widge? What happened?”

 

She lifts the box off of herself and Widget scrambles around, climbing all over Jemma and running in and out of the frame on his screen. He laughs loudly and shakes his head.

 

“Found you!”

 

Jemma crinkles her nose and tosses the box aside, and he turns off the video on his phone. She shoots him a look as she stands, brushing off her yoga pants.

 

“Leo Fitz,” she gasps. “Are you planning on _posting on social media?”_

“Friendly reminder that you do most of my posting,” he grins. “But if I posted this, then everyone would know I’m moving.”

 

“And?” Jemma challenges.

 

“People might wonder where exactly I’m moving to,” he replies, skirting around the obvious question. Jemma pats Widget absently, staring up at him with an impish little smile.

 

“Fitz, I think most everyone already _knows_ you’ve been living with me for a while now.”

 

“But this would be real.”

 

The way he says it tells her just how serious about this he is. He doesn’t just meant that it’ll be real because of the rest of the world will know—this is Fitz trying to give her an out, a moment to change her mind about this huge step for them.

 

She refuses to take it. She refuses to be pulled apart from him even one more time.

 

She stands up and cups his cheeks in her hands. A flash of surprise crosses his face, obviously taken aback by her sudden seriousness.

 

“This _is_ real,” she tells him sincerely. “It always was.”

 

He smiles, then, a beaming grin that sets her pulse racing. She kisses him quickly and then grabs a roll of tape from the table behind her. She tosses it to him.

 

“The book boxes are ready to be taped up.”

 

He rolls his eyes. “Bossy.”

 

“If I weren’t, you’d never get anything done,” she jokes. He barks out a laugh and nods, making his way to the book boxes.

 

“No kidding. I don’t think I’d have known any of my lines if not for you.”

 

“You still wouldn’t know any of your lines if not for me.”

 

She can see the retort on the tip of his tongue, the one he would have hurled at her when she came back from Hydra.

 

_I did just fine without you._

But as quickly as his moment for bitterness arrives, it passes. He gives her an easy wink and busies himself with the boxes.

 

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Simmons.”

 

She grins and moves past him, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek and setting about packing up his record collection. They’ll be leaving a lot of his stuff here—they don’t need two sets of kitchenware, and if this apartment will still be an office of sorts, they may as well have enough stuff to spend time here.

 

But she also wants him to bring his most important stuff, the things that will turn her house from _Jemma’s_ to _Jemma and Fitz’s._

She knows that he wants the same thing when she spots him putting his most prized possession into a duffle bag with his clothes. It’s a picture of himself, his mum, Penny, and Jemma, snapped in a hotel room before their first Oscars that has sat on his bedside table since long before Penny’s death. It hasn’t left it’s spot there; he’s even brought it along when they’ve been on location for long periods of time and living out of hotel rooms.

 

She ducks out of the doorway before he can spot her watching him prepare the last of his things. When the movers arrive and load up the boxes and select pieces of furniture into the moving truck, they wait until they hear it shut with a resounding click.

 

“Let’s go home,” Jemma suggests. She tosses him the keys, turning to walk toward the car. She doesn’t really see him coming until she’s pressed up against the Mini, his hands in her hair as he kisses her breathless before pulling away. His chest heaves, a self-satisfied grin on his face. His eyes practically scream _I love you I love you I love you_ and she knows hers must be doing the same.

 

“What was that for?” she manages. Widget runs in impatient little circles around their feet.

 

He shrugs. “Nothing, I guess.”

 

But she knows why. So does he. And so they go _home._

 

***

 

_Jemma shakes out her hands nervously, releasing a sharp breath and shutting her eyes against her nerves. It’s her first day on set of Chemistry, her first real acting job on film. A tap on her shoulder startles her, and she turns around to see a nearly-green Leo Fitz chewing on his lip._

_“You look scared,” he tells her candidly. She narrows her eyes, misunderstanding his attempt at connection as some kind of challenge to her abilities._

_“Yes, well, you look ill.”_

_His eyes widen and then he smiles slightly. “No, no, I just meant—“_

_He reaches back to scratch behind one ear, a gesture that she will later become very familiar with._

_“I’m freaking out,” he admits in one breath. “This is huge.”_

_Her shoulders relax in relief and she nods enthusiastically. “Oh, me too. I’m utterly terrified.”_

_“I’m glad I’m not the only one,” he commiserates, clearly glad to have someone to share his fear with. “But…well, at least we’re in this together, right?”_

_She doesn’t answer for a while. She hardly knows him—only met him once, other than auditions, and that had been at the table read. Her mother had been careful to keep her far away from the other actors on set, saying that making friends with these people would only distract her from delivering her best performance._

_Jemma pauses just long enough for Fitz to clearly become concerned that he’s crossed some kind of line._

_“Well, not together, obviously, I just mean—“_

_“No,” she cuts him off. “No. We are in this together.”_

_He smiles again, and she finds that she quite likes the softness of it on his boyish face._

_“Yeah?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_Nick Fury calls out for everyone to gather around for directions and they both practically leap out of their skin._

_Jemma nervously wets her lips and turns to her new companion with an anxious gaze. “Hey, Fitz?”_

_“Yeah?”_

_“Do you really think we can do this?”_

_Fitz barks out a disbelieving laugh as he looks around at the busy soundstage. “I sure as hell hope so.”_

_On an impulse, she reaches out to briefly squeeze his hand. Her cheeks flush at her own forwardness, but it’s all over so quickly he hardly has time to react. Phil and Melinda appear as if from nowhere, ushering them toward the meeting even as Jemma’s mother fights with someone nearby about Jemma’s first costume for the film._

_They’re seventeen and determined, endlessly inquisitive about the filmmaking process and the screenplay itself._

_She sure as hell hopes that they can do this, too._

***

 

Despite the fact that pretty much everyone they know has been to her house a thousand times, Jemma insists on throwing a housewarming party once Fitz is settled in to the new space. It hadn’t been much of an adjustment, after all. Jemma had moved more of her clothes to a spare room and he had taken over half of the closet. They found spots for his record player and collection, and taken out some of furniture from one of the guest rooms so that he could have a study of his own.

 

They don’t touch Penny’s room. Jemma is sure that the buttercream yellow will stay that way until they eventually move out of this place.

 

What does surprise her is when Fitz unexpectedly pulls out a wrapped, framed poster. It’s in the brown paper used for moving and Jemma supposes it’s one of his many old film posters—he’s always hung up the iconic shots of his favorite films that inspire him most.

 

But she nearly gasps when he tears through the brown paper, not quite meeting her eyes.

 

It’s the poster for Hydra. Her own face stares at her intensely from a shiny silver elevator, red words splashed across her chest. Jemma blinks in surprise, a weary kind of hope building in her chest.

 

“Fitz, when did you get that?”

 

He shrugs, cheeks reddening. “It’s uh—I’ve had it since Hydra premiered, actually.”

 

“What?” she gasps.

 

“I didn’t go to the premiere, obviously,” he explains unnecessarily. She’d remembered how hollow she’d felt, dressed in a sparkling gown with no Fitz. Will had accompanied her to the red carpet and made a rather dull interview companion, which she’d drunkenly confessed to Bobbi on a bathroom floor, mascara all over her cheeks.

 

“I remember.”

 

“But I saw it as soon as I could,” he rushes to say. “I know we weren’t—we weren’t speaking then, you and I, but I was really proud of you, Jemma. You carried that film on your shoulders, on your own, and even though I didn’t feel ready to do something like that on my own yet—“

 

“But you did!” she practically bursts out. “You did. You made Recovery.”

 

He smiles crookedly. “Only when I heard you’d signed on for Hydra. That’s when I started to get better. I guess that old competitive edge reared it’s ugly head.”

 

“Maybe this time it wasn’t so ugly,” she tells him softly. Her gaze drifts back to the poster, her nose wrinkling in distaste. “Are you really going to hang that in here?”

 

“Yep,” he says, looking all the world like the cat that ate the canary. “It motivates me. You look like you’ll kill me if I step out of line.”

 

Jemma balks and slaps his arm. “As if you need a poster to remind you of that.”

 

He throws an arm around her, tugging her in to press a kiss to her forehead. “Yeah, yeah.”

 

“But honestly, Fitz,” Jemma says after a long moment. “That poster has to go.”

 

“No,” he says stubbornly. “No way.”

 

“I will put a Recovery poster in the living room.”

 

“Be my guest,” he grins. “I looked great in that cardigan combo, if you ask me.”

 

She narrows her eyes. “Do not test me, _Leo_.”

 

A muscle twitches in his jaw and his arm falls off of her shoulders. She smirks in victory.

 

“What did you call me?”

 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she says, sugary sweet. “I meant to call you your proper first name, _Leopold_.”

 

He picks up his nearby bottle of water, so quickly she hardly has time to react before he squirts her in the face with it. She shrieks and rushes forward to grab it from his hand, wrestling him to the ground to get her revenge. A small cough eventually pulls them apart, both of them damp and disorderly.

 

“I’m here to help you with your party, remember?” Melinda says dryly. Furiously red and mortified, Fitz and Jemma scramble to their feet. Melinda looks between them, unamused. “Oh for fuck’s sake. You’re both adults and you’re still wearing your clothes. There’s no need to look like I just caught you—“

 

“NO!” they both shout.

 

“Don’t—“ Jemma begins.

 

“Do not say it,” Fitz finishes. “I can’t listen to those words come out of your mouth, I really can’t.”

 

Jemma’s eyes widen and she gasps. “Ugh, Fitz!”

 

“What?” Melinda asks, a challenge in her eyes. “Having sex?”

 

Fitz frowns deeply, bearing a striking resemblance to a snapping turtle, and Jemma just shakes her head rapidly.

 

“Well, at least it’s over,” Fitz sighs as he leads the charge back downstairs to begin getting ready for the party. “That’s the worst of it.”

 

“Is it?” Melinda taunts. “Because I could have gone with making love. Or maybe even fuc—“

 

“NO!” they both shout. “NO NO NO!”

 

They’re so loud that they miss her low chuckle from behind them. Melinda shakes her glossy hair, feeling excessively pleased that these two knobby kneed kids wound up here, together.

 

Phil crowds through the door with a large mass of silver and teal balloons, cursing lightly under his breath. A full-fledged smile breaks out over her face as FitzSimmons groan about how embarrassing she is, and she moves silently to Phil to help him untangle himself from a slew of ribbons.

 

She’s happy that they’re here; she’s happy to be here, too.

 

When Hunter and Bobbi sweep in, arguing loudly, she is ever so slightly _less_ happy about her current place in life. She sighs, listening to their heated words and wondering if she’ll ever have a break from the group of young people she has somehow become the mentor of.

 

“But Playboy, Bobbi? Are you fucking serious?!”

 

“About as serious as those women’s underwear I found in your car, Hunter,” Bobbi spits back. She shoves past him and he splutters.

 

“I told you! They got thrown on stage!”

 

“And you _kept_ them! Besides, it’s my body and I can do whatever the hell I want with it.”

 

“No Playboy,” Phil says sternly from behind his wall of helium balloons.

 

“She’s right,” Melinda can’t help but cut in. “If she wants to do it, then it’s her prerogative. It’s her body.”

 

Bobbi smiles, obviously pleased. “Thank you, Melinda.”

 

“I mean, the irony of your whole Zero Is Not A Size campaign, only to turn around and model for Playboy…” Melinda says, trailing off on the end. “That’s your career killer to choose.”

 

The smile slides right off of her face. “Oh. Right.”

 

“Forget about the ickle teenagers again?” Hunter taunts. “You sure do know how to be a hypocrite, though, Bob—“

 

“Both of you,” Melinda says sharply. They turn around with mouths open, undoubtedly to explain this latest tiff to her, but she holds up a hand. “Enough. Today is about Fitz and Jemma, alright? We are _celebrating_ so you’re going to go into that backyard, eat some hamburgers, and _have a good time_.”

 

Only Melinda May can make fun sound menacing, and they both nod quickly before scampering off. Phil laughs behind his balloons, and Melinda finally succeeds in untangling him. Skye and Trip enter just then, and Melinda doesn’t miss the look that Skye gives them book. She ushers the younger girl toward the yard, and Skye is smart enough to not make a peep.

 

She may have just walked in the door, but she can already tell that her friends have tested Melinda’s patience for the day.

 

For the rest of the afternoon, they keep Hunter and Bobbi apart as they set up for the barbeque. Fitz and Jemma disappear for a while to FaceTime Brenda, giving her a tour of the little changes they’ve made to the house. She oohs and aws at the appropriate moments, siding with Fitz on the Hydra poster—much to Jemma’s chagrin--, and tears up when she says goodbye.

 

“I am truly so happy for both of you.”

 

“Mum,” Fitz whines. Jemma just smiles softly.

 

“Thank you, Brenda. That means a lot.”

 

A small part of Jemma had always feared that Brenda would wake up one morning and resent her. That she would resent her for driving the car that her daughter died in. That she would resent her for not taking better care of Fitz in the aftermath, and then for leaving him afterward.

 

She supposes there are a lot of things that Brenda Fitz could resent her for, but she doesn’t. She simple loves her, and it’s the kind of unconditional love that Jemma is still adjusting to. It’s not as though she’d grown up with very much of that as a child.

 

She squeezes Fitz’s hand. It’s getting easier to get used to.

 

Their barbeque is fairly small, with their core group of friends and some others, like Lincoln Campbell, who will be joining them in the cast of Inevitable in just a matter of weeks. Hunter’s band mates show up, and eventually so do Natasha Romanoff and Sharon Carter.

 

Natasha doesn’t bring Clint. Jemma is eternally grateful for that.

 

It’s an evening full of music and hamburgers and fairy lights and beer, exactly the way Jemma had pictured it. It’s rare that her gatherings feel this intimate, but this particular celebration seems to be at a higher level than just about anything else.

 

It’s the celebration of a beginning, and for the first time in her life, she isn’t itching to skip to the end.

 

***

 

**[Three Weeks Later]**

Jemma smiles kindly at the production assistant who hauls the last box of scripts out of the trunk of her car. Fitz leans against the door, his own copy in his hands, and grins at her.

 

“Are we going to do a Fury?”

 

Jemma tilts her head curiously. “That depends on what exactly a Fury is.”

 

“You know, make an example out of someone on the first day,” Fitz says. If Jemma didn’t know any better, she’d think he really enjoyed the prospect of terrorizing underlings.

 

Actually, she doesn’t have to know anything better to know that Fitz has always lacked patience for incompetence.

 

“We are not doing that,” she tells him sternly. “We’re gong to be a welcoming, inclusive set. Mistakes are just new ways to learn, and—“

 

“And we’ll make a horrible film that way,” Fitz cuts in. She glares at him, even as he takes her shoulder bag from her and slings it over his own. “I’m just saying, if someone shows up today with a bad hangover or without their A-game, then I think we should do something about it.”

 

“You love the idea of being the bad cop,” Jemma tells him, “but when push comes to shove, you’ll make _me_ be the bad cop.”

 

He licks his lips and flashes her a glance that sends a rush of heat through her. _Now is not the time_ , she thinks.

 

“I happen to like that bad cop look on you.”

 

“Yes, well, I am not a bad girl,” she reminds him haughtily. “I like following the rules and doing what’s expected of me.”

 

He rolls his eyes dramatically. “It makes you feel nice. I’ve heard it a thousand times, and yet you were the one who suggested sneaking out when we first met.”

 

“Escapes from Victoria don’t count,” Jemma says with a derisive laugh. “That’s like stealing a loaf of bread to feed your family. It’s not really breaking the rules when it’s to save someone’s life.”

 

Fitz furrows his brow, concerned. “Still haven’t talked to them, huh?”

 

She shakes her head. “No, I haven’t. They faxed the paperwork to Foggy though. We now have an agreement regarding any possible use of my life rights.”

 

“Meaning…?”

 

“That I’m the only one who gets to use them at all.”

 

“I’m glad to hear it,” he says, and then grimaces. “Not about the not talking to them, but the—ah, fuck. You know what I mean.”

 

She smiles softly and follows him into the soundstage, which they’ve set up with a number of large couches and armchairs and various other comfortable furniture. She’s determined to run a different kind of film set, more like the kinds of theaters she’d worked in early on in her career.

 

Which is why she toys with the toys with the token in her bag. Heart in her throat, she holds it out toward Fitz.

 

“I think we should keep this somewhere on set. Today—today was her birthday, after all.”

 

Fitz stares down at the long chain, a rose gold hummingbird pendant glittering at the bottom. He’d bought it for his sister for her thirteenth birthday. She’d always loved hummingbirds, how fast their little wings could go just to float.

 

He gulps and nods, taking the necklace from her. “You’re right. She—she’d love this, really. She probably would have tried to play you, even though you looked nothing alike.”

 

She glances over and sees the actress who will be portraying a younger version of herself, standing anxiously by the food and coffee. The teenager shifts on her feet, side to side, and the young man who will be playing Fitz approaches her shyly.

 

Jemma watches them and jerks her head in their direction. “Remember that, Fitz?”

 

He snorts. “Unless we’re going to make him kiss her in front of his own mother, then no, I don’t.”

 

Jemma giggles, bumping her hip against his and looking around at the stage in a state of near awe. “We’ve come a long way.”

 

“We have,” he agrees seriously. “We had no idea what was coming.”

 

He’s looking at the teenagers, now, and Jemma follows his gaze. They both watch the younger actors for a long moment, before Melinda approaches.

 

“It’s about that time. Wheels up in five.”

 

“I’ll grab tea,” Fitz offers. “You pick our seats?”

 

She nods and watches the teenagers scatter away as quickly as they can upon spotting Fitz making his way toward them. She grins to herself and selects two armchairs placed side-by-side, in a good spot to see all of the other seats.

 

Fitz comes back just a few minutes later, and they settle their papers and scripts. Fitz takes a deep breath, preparing to call out for everyone to have a seat to get started. Skye has already started making moves, accustomed as she is to their body language and behavior.

 

Jemma reaches out to stop him. “Fitz?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Do you think we’re ready for this?” she asks. Unlike last time she asked him this question, her legs aren’t trembling. There are butterflies in her stomach, but it’s nothing like the nausea she’d felt back then.

 

“I sure as hell hope so,” he beams.

 

Jemma reaches up to kiss him quickly, something she never would have done nine years ago. Then she cups her hands around her mouth and calls out.

 

“Alright, everyone! Find a seat and let’s get started.”

 

“It’s go time!” Fitz adds. She raises an eyebrow and he scratches bashfully behind one ear. “Can’t let you take over the reins quite yet, Simmons.”

 

She takes a seat in her arm chair and watches the cast—her cast, their cast—assemble themselves accordingly.

 

“Welcome to the first official table reading of Inevitable,” Jemma announces. “We’re so excited to have you all here. I think we’re going to make something really great out of this. For those of you who have never done this before—I hope that your life will never be the same after this.”

 

She exchanges a look with Fitz and then locks eyes with her younger counterpart.

 

“I know mine changed forever. I’m looking forward to changing it again, with each and every one of you.”

 

She flips open her screenplay in a firm, decisive motion. She clears her throat and begins to read the first set of narrative directions.

 

“We open on a teenage girl, roughly seventeen, asleep…”

 

Inevitable is underway. They are sure as hell ready for it.

 


End file.
